The Bearheart Chronicles - Odds and Ends
by MelanaAdara
Summary: In here I'm going to put any odd short bits I write that may or may not find their way into the main story. I hope you enjoy them.
1. Chapter 1 Gillaen's Dilemma

The Bearheart Chronicles – Gillaen's Dilemma

I held her close to me. For once neither of us were wearing our armour, I wore a loose shirt and simple cloth trousers, she wore an elegant silk gown she'd acquired from somewhere, so I could feel every beat of her heart, every breath. She looked up at me, her icy blue eyes meeting mine as she smiled.

My hand was behind her neck, my fingers tangled in her soft red hair. My breath caught in my throat as I whispered her name, "Nerissina."

Before she could speak I bowed my head and pressed my lips against hers in a passionate kiss.

For so many years I'd wanted this, both in life and undeath I'd wanted her, needed her.

In life I'd watched her choose my brother and had concealed my broken heart behind my banter. When she'd become worgen I'd believed her lost to us both and had still kept my silence. Then she and I had died and my memories had been lost in my service to the Scourge. But even then we'd been close, fighting side by side in obedience to our dread master, sharing our lust for killing, for cruelty and torment.

And when we'd been freed from that servitude we'd stayed together. More than once in battle we'd had need to raise each other from a second death. There was never any question that we wouldn't do it. We were bound together in life and undeath by the love we shared for Arrentai and the need to survive for his sake. He was the glue that kept us together, the reason for wanting to survive.

But now…

Arrentai had his own life with Lizabetha, his own family. He didn't need us in the way that we needed him, needed each other.

Even then we'd held back from that final commitment. I was afraid, more afraid than I'd been facing the worst of demons or monsters. I hadn't slept with a woman since my brief, ill-fated affair with Kaeti back in Lordaeron. Now… I didn't know if I could. Was there enough life left in my undead body that it would answer to my desires. I wanted to know, but at the same time I was so afraid to find out the truth, afraid that my failings would drive Nerissina away. The only thing to give me hope was the memory of the faint stirrings of desire I felt as I held her in the dark silence of the night. But was it enough?

Nerissina reached up a hand and gently stroked it down the side of my face, her touch light and teasing.

"You'll never know if you don't try," she whispered.

Oh Light! Could she see all my deepest fears?

I trembled as she ran her fingers down my chest, stopping at the waistband of my trousers. I couldn't speak or move. Utterly submissive I let her take my hand and lead me to our bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2 Season,s Greetings

Gillaen 

It was the eve of the shortest day of the year. The season of Winterveil was in full swing and the residents of the garrison had decorated the place with trees and strings of lights and garlands. I don't know where they'd got hold of the stuff, trees like those didn't grow anywhere in Draenor that I'd seen. It was just like back in Azeroth with the goblins from Smokeywood Pastures selling all their seasonal treats and even a Winter Wondervolt. The only thing missing was Greatfather Winter. Although I wouldn't put it past the goblins to come up with an alternative for him. After all, the Horde had an orc version of him I'd been told.

I stood in front of the town hall watching everyone enjoying themselves and yet I didn't really feel part of it. I don't think I ever had been. As a child in Gilneas we hadn't celebrated like this; the dwarves and tauren were the races most in tune with oldest beliefs of the season and we knew neither in our seclusion behind the Greymane wall. The goblins brought the commercialism to the event but back then they too were unknown. Druids marked the changing of the seasons but in a quiet thoughtful way. And in the army there was little to celebrate. It wasn't until I'd been freed from the Scourge that I'd become aware of the festival it was now.

No; I was more than content to stand back and watch those I cared for enjoy themselves. I sensed Nerissina approach and stand beside me and I smiled. Since we had resolved the uncertainties in our relationship I was more settled than I'd been in many years.

Below us I could see Arrentai and Lizabetha. He had his arm round her as they looked over the goblins' wares and I heard her laugh softly at something he said.

"They look so happy," Nerissina said, a little sadly, for that should have been her life if the Scourge hadn't stolen it from her.

She was right. It was several weeks since Lizabetha had come to Draenor. And since then Arrentai had changed so much. No longer was he depressed, unable to shapeshift, seeking comfort in drink. Now he had Lizabetha to care for, and the shapeshifting thing seemed to have sorted itself out as we fought and defeated various fel corrupted creatures and cleansed the magic of this world.

And soon, very soon, their baby would be born. It was due in the new year Arrentai had told me. He was looking forward to it. It would be a new experience for him, for he'd missed being at Taliesa's birth when Nerissina had been taken by the worgen.

They turned away from the goblins and walked towards the steps that would lead up to us. I saw Lizabetha hesitate and Arrentai turn toward her with a question on his lips, then she just seemed to crumple into his arms. I heard the alarm in his voice as he called out her name, then he looked up at me.

"Help me, Gill."

I ran down to him not knowing what to expect. Lizabetha was motionless in his arms, barely conscious.

"She said her head hurt, then she just collapsed. I don't know what's wrong with her."

I could hear the anguish, the panic, in his voice as he looked to me for help. I didn't really know what to do, I had to think quickly.

"Get her inside," I told him. "I'll get help."

He shapeshifted to worgen to give himself extra strength, then I helped him to lift her. For a moment I watched as he carried her up the steps toward Nerissina, then I turned and went in search of any healers I could find. Fiona of course was in her herb garden, as soon as I told her what had happened she collected what she thought she might need and hurried up to the town hall. Then I saw Leorajh coming up the path from the main gate and called him to come as well.

When we got to the town hall I saw that Fiona had brought along Daleera too. The two women were examining Lizabetha watched anxiously by Arrentai and Nerissina. The little room was rather crowded so I stayed back in the doorway watching. After some moments of consultation with the other healers, Fiona gathered Arrentai, Nerissina and I together outside the door.

"I don't know why this has happened" she said quietly, "but I'm concerned that it is putting both Lizabetha and the baby at risk. I want to deliver it now. Daleera and Leorajh can help me."

Arrentai turned to follow her back into the room and she put out a hand to stop him.

"No, Arrentai, not you. Go with your brother."

"But I need to be with her..."

"No!"

Gently but firmly I took Arrentai's arm and led him away. He looked back longingly but allowed me to guide him to the main room. I made him sit by the fire then went to speak to Thorn and Deedree who were engaged in a discussion at the other end of the room.

"My brother needs me," I told them as I briefly filled them in. "I don't want any distractions."

"Leave it to us, Commander," Deedree assured us.

I nodded and went back to Arrentai. He looked up at me and his expression reminded me of that day back in the summer when he'd come so close to breaking. It was the look of a small boy who doesn't know or understand what is happening and needs someone to help and explain everything.

"This wasn't meant to happen," he said, his voice scarce more than a whisper. "I was supposed to be there to help Lizabetha and at the end we'd have our baby and we'd be happy and it would all be perfect and..." his words faltered to a halt and he buried his face in his hands.

I sat down beside him and stared into the flickering embers of the fire. I didn't know how to reassure my brother. I'd never been in his situation, I never would be, so I had no idea how he felt.

"I think," I said slowly, "that all we can do is to trust in the Light to do what is best for us."

I heard a new voice and glanced round to see a male draenei at the door. Tall, solidly built, grey haired, he wore the robes favoured by priests and carried a pack on his back and a staff in his hand. He'd clearly just arrived at the garrison. He smiled briefly as his gaze fell on my brother.

"Arrentai, my friend," he spoke quietly but clearly. "I was told you needed my help."

My brother lifted his head and turned to look at the newcomer and there was a glimmer of hope on his face.

"Kayllen, it's Lizabetha! I'm afraid I'm going to lose her and our baby. Please help us."

"Of course, my friend, I will do whatever is in my power. Take me to her now."

Arrentai jumped to his feet, strode to the draenei's side and grabbed him by the arm, practically dragging him out of the room and down the corridor to our private rooms. He stopped just short of his room.

"In there," he said quietly.

Kayllen rested a hand briefly on his shoulder then turned and entered the room. Arrentai didn't follow him; instead he stayed in the corridor, pacing anxiously back and forth. I perched on one of the storage chests and watched him. I'd be there for him, even though I felt totally useless.

Nerissina 

I didn't follow Gillaen and Arrentai into the main room. I couldn't offer Arrentai any comfort; all that was going through my head was my own experience. I'd eventually had my child returned, but what if Arrentai lost his wife, his child, for always. I believe it would break him completely.

I stayed in the doorway watching as the three healers set about their task with swift efficiency. Lizabetha was still unconscious; she hadn't stirred since collapsing outside. I quickly understood why Fiona had insisted that Arrentai should not be there. Delivering a child by surgery was a bloody and messy affair and not something that any man should see his wife go through. Fiona brought the child, wrapped in a towel, and handed it to me.

"He's fine," she said. "Take him to Arrentai. We need to concentrate on Lizabetha."

Holding the tiny child close I turned to walk out the door and almost collided with a big draenei.

"I've come to help," he said. I stood to one side and let him go in before leaving.

Arrentai!" I called his name and he ceased his restless pacing and turned to me. His eyes went from my face to the child in my arms.

"You have a son," I told him. He came to me and I placed the child gently in his arms. For a moment he gazed at him enthralled; then he looked up at me.

"Lizabetha?"

I hesitated, unsure of what to tell him, and I saw the panic in his eyes.

"I'm sure she'll be all right," Gillaen said behind us.

"She's in good hands, Arrentai. Give them time."

He stood there clearly torn between his delight in his new son and his concern for Lizabetha. In the end he seemed to realise that Gillaen was right and he stayed with us.

Arrentai 

My emotions, my thoughts, were a jumbled mess; joy at the birth of my son, yet fear that Lizabetha would die. I didn't know how I would cope if that happened. She was everything to me; I needed her and now our son needed her. Lost in my introspection I didn't notice that Fiona had come out of our room and was speaking my name. Nerissina touched my arm and I looked up.

"Fiona!" she said softly.

I turned and looked at the healer, afraid to ask, to hope.

"She's sleeping now but she's going to be all right."

"Light be praised," I whispered.

I walked past her into my room. Daleera was busy gathering up a bundle of soiled bedding; she paused to smile at me before leaving with Leorajh. Kayllen still knelt at the bedside, his hand resting on Lizabetha's forehead. He turned to look at me and the soft glow of Light faded gently.

"When she wakes, she will be well again," he said quietly.

"For now let her rest."

Stiffly he arose and stretched out.

"How can I ever thank you?" I said.

"There's no need, my friend. Just be happy."

For a moment he rested his hand on my shoulder and I felt the residual warmth of the Light in his touch. Then he turned and walked out. I pulled up a chair and took his place, sitting as close to Lizabetha as I could. Cradling my sleeping son in one arm I reached out the other hand and rested it gently against my wife's cheek, letting my fingers twine in her hair. She turned her head towards my touch, but did not otherwise stir.

I don't know how long I sat there like that, my gaze alternating between the faces of the two most precious people in my life. But eventually my son awoke, whimpering. I tried to calm him, but he was hungry and nothing else would satisfy him.

"Arrentai?"

I turned to gaze at Lizabetha.

"Give me my child," she said, her voice strong and assured.

"Our son," I murmured as I lay him in her arms and watched her settle him at her breast. Then I leant over to kiss her. I said nothing else, there was no need.

Outside we could hear the muted sound of the Winterveil celebrations getting well under way.

"Happy Winterveil!" Lizabetha said with a smile.

Yes it was. I had all I could possibly wish for; my wife was alive and well, we had a new baby to cherish, and we were surrounded by our family and friends. What more could we ask for?


	3. Chapter 3 The End?

This is an idea that came to me while in a pensive mood. What, I wondered, would happen to all the death knights if there were no more wars. This short story is one possible outcome for Gillaen. It may or may not come to pass when I eventually reach the end of the Bearheart Chronicles. I should warn you, it is sad, I cried while writing it, but it had to be done. There is some precedent in game content for the choice I made, the story of Crusader Bridenbrad in Icecrown.

The End?

The death knights regiments were the last to return to Stormwind. We arrived directly in the Old Town garrison by mage portal and were told to settle into our barracks and to keep to ourselves. Not for us the parades and feasts that most of the other returning troops received. Fair enough we wouldn't have appreciated the feast that much, but a little recogntion for what we'd done would have been nice.

Thinking on it, I don't believe they really knew what to do with us. We'd been created by the Lich King as an army of cold-blooded killers to fight against the Silver Hand and the Scarlet Crusade, until we'd been freed from his control. But even then we weren't truly free. The hunger inflicted on us to keep us obedient had made sure of that. We could never be anything other than what we were.

For more decades than I could remember we had fought, without rest or respite, against Arthas and his Scourge, against the endless waves of demons that threatened to invade our world and the remains of shattered Outland. But now? Now the fighting was over. The Burning Legion was beaten, its leaders dead or imprisoned, its portals to our world destroyed. What few scourge or demons remained were no threat to the combined armies of Azeroth. There was no more enmity between Alliance and Horde. The two factions had learned to fight together against the common foe, and, in doing so had learned that they could also live together.

But me, I was all alone, I'd outlived most of my family. My parents, Arrentai, Lizabetha, Hestia and her husband Jothan, so many of my friends; they'd succumbed to the passage of time. Their children had moved on with their lives and scarcely remembered me. Even my beloved Nerissina had died, cut down by a demon in the last battle. We'd been together, fighting side by side, friends and lovers, for so long that I couldn't imagine the future without her. I didn't want to.

All I could see for myself, for the other death knights who'd survived, was an endless future playing out pointless wargames or giving in to the madness that would be inevitable if we ignored the hunger. The only end would be to choose death at our own or another's hand. I admit it seemed more inviting than the loneliness I faced. But even now my faith in the Light was strong and to seek death in that way was a sin, against all I believed.

Rather than face the equally gloomy faces of my fellows, I left the barracks and headed out into the city. For hours I wandered, revisiting the places I'd known, places I shared with my loved ones. Needing no rest, no sustenance,I was unaware of the passage of time. Everywhere I could see the damage caused by the war, the people already starting to repair it. Stormwind would survive, the indomitable spirit of its people would allow nothing less.

Eventually I found myself in Cathedral square. The statue in the fountain was somewhat battered but otherwise there was little damage here at the heart of the city. Almost without thinking I turned my steps to the cathedral itself. I'd always found peace there and now I hoped I'd find answers. The sound of singing reached me, a service was in progress, but it wouldn't deter me. I'd long since given up worrying what other people thought, I had as much right as anyone else to be there.

I entered quietly and sat in an empty seat at the back. I took no active part in the service, instead I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and just listened to the music, the singing, the prayers. It washed over me, soothing, calming, giving me a peace I'd not known for so long. Even the hunger, the almost constant pain from imperfectly healed injuries, seemed less overwhelming here. Maybe I should just stay here in the cathedral. I smiled, amused, as I pictured the reactions of the priests and other clerics if I suggested such a thing.

Eventually the service came to an end and people began to file out. I watched them quietly, most ignored me, choosing not to acknowledge that even the damned could find peace here. One or two muttered thinly veiled threats which i paid no heed to.

When they'd gone and the place was empty but for the clerics and those seeking help or training, then I moved from my seat. Standing slowly, I took a moment to ease my stiffened muscles, then I walked forward as I'd done so often before. I stopped a few feet before the base of the steps that led up to the altar. I never went further; with the darkness in my soul it didn't feel right. For once there was no one near the altar as I knelt on the hard cold stone, laying my sword on the ground before me.

I don't know how long I remained there, lost in my thoughts, pouring out my feelings, my need, my desperation in my prayers. But eventually the soft sound of a footfall behind me roused me from my thoughts. I looked round. A woman in the white robes of a priest stood there, her hood pulled forward so that all I could see was the lower half of her face.

"Can I do anything to help you?" she asked softly, smiling.

"I doubt it," I replied quietly, "but thank you for asking."

"Why don't you tell me what's troubling you," she suggested, her voice gently persuasive. And I did. I told her everything, all I had done, no matter how bad it was I confessed it. I spoke of the people I had loved and lost, and my fears for the future. I told her things I'd never spoken of before. I kept nothing back.

She listened in silence until I'd finished, then looked at me expectantly.

"There must have been some good in your life, some good that you have done."

"I did my duty."

"You did so much more if you could only realise it. Yes, you lost your way for a while, but for most of your life you've cared for and protected the people who were important to you, your home, your world. You gave up your chance for love for your brother; you gave your life to protect your people from the Scourge; you fought all your life to protect this world. You have no reason to feel guilt any more. Believe me, I know. I've been watching you for a long time. Now it's time for you to stop fighting, to be at peace."

"I wish I could. I'm so tired of fighting. But I have no choice, if I don't fight I'll lose myself to the madness of the hunger."

I turned away from her, bowing my head again. I felt so tired, all I wanted to do was sleep, lose myself in my memories. But I couldn't; sleep eluded me and in the dark hours of the night my torment was at its worst.

"Gillaen!"

I ignored her, struggling to control my emotions.

"You've earned your rest, paladin. It's time to lay down your sword and accept the Light."

Now I looked up at her through the tears that I couldn't stop.

She smiled and held out a hand to me. I struggled to my feet, using my sword to support me. The last wound I'd suffered had damaged the muscles of my leg, leaving it weak and it wouldn't always hold my weight. She turned and walked up the steps to the altar pushing the hood of her robe from her head and letting her golden hair spill down her back.

I was dazzled by the light that flooded the cathedral, the sun through the wide windows I thought, before realising that it was too late in the day for the sun to be shining from that direction. It grew brighter, until I was almost blinded. I stumbled on the first step and almost fell before I felt strong hands supporting me.

"The choice is yours, Gillaen. Go on as you are, or accept the peace that the Light offers you."

"I want peace,"I whispered. "I want to be free of pain and hunger. But most of all I want to be with those I love."

"Then take it."

I reached the top of the steps and bent on one knee to lay my sword in front of the altar. For a moment I gazed at it in sadness. The runes that I had always kept clear and fresh were now faded, broken, lacking their usual power. It wasn't so easy to runeforge our weapons now. The demons of the Burning Legion had somehow found out that was what made our weapons so powerful and had mounted a raid on the Ebon Hold and destroyed all but one of our forges. Gradually we were rebuilding them, but it took time; there were few left now who had the skill necessary.

"I accept," I whispered. "I accept all the Light has to offer me."

I stood again, and turned. The young woman was gone; in her place was a creature of pure Light and energy, a Naaru.

"Take the first step," it said. "It's all you need to do."

Once I'd made my decision it was easy. Leaving my sword where it lay, I walked back down the steps and into the Light that filled the silence of the cathedral. Slowly I became aware of figures coming toward me. Leading them was Nerissina, my beloved Nerissina, her red hair loose about her shoulders, her slender figure clad in the blue silk gown that I remembered from so long ago. Smiling, she came to my arms and I bent my head to kiss her. She felt surprisingly solid for a figment of my imagination.

"Welcome, my love," she said gently. "We've waited so long for you to join us."

I raised my head and looked past her to her companions, my tears blurring my vision. Arrentai, my little brother, as he was in his younger days, tall, strong, his red-gold hair in its usual braids, Lizabetha, his wife, smiling in his arms, Hestia, Jothan, my parents, so many others that I remembered from my long life. I looked back at the Naaru.

"This is your reward, Gillaen. You are reunited with your loved ones in the peace of the Light. Be happy, Paladin."

I nodded in thanks, then turned back to my loved ones and walked with them into the Light.

(From the journal of Taliesa Bearheart, priestess of the Light)

Today we celebrated our final victory over the Burning Legion. It seems we have been at war for most of my life and I'm an old woman now. I pray I may live what's left of my life in peace.

The body of Gillaen Bearheart was found this evening in the cathedral on the chancel steps, his sword laid as an offering at the foot of the altar. I find I can't be sad for him. My uncle lived a long and often savage life, yet at the end he was smiling, at peace. I believe he is now reunited with the rest of our family.

May the Light protect us all.


	4. Chapter 4 Gillaen's Dilemma pt 2

The Bearheart Chronicles - Gillaen's Dilemma (part 2)

"Close the door," Nerissina whispered.

"We don't want to be disturbed."

Obediently I pushed it shut and turned the key. I stepped toward her and again took her in my arms.

"I don't know if I can do this," I murmured, my voice hoarse.

"Don't think about it. Just let what happens happen. Relax."

Easy for her to say, I thought, she didn't have the same pressure to rise to the occasion that I did. But she was right; I would never know unless I stopped prevaricating and tried. I moved my hands to the cord that gathered the neck of her gown and pulled it undone, gently teasing it looser as I bent my head to kiss her bare skin. She shivered and lifted her own hands, slipping them under the fabric of my shirt to caress my back. Her touch was gentle, teasing, promising more. And I wanted more; Light; I wanted all she could give me.

"Let me see you," I asked. She nodded and I renewed my attack on her gown. I took my time, not wanting to damage it. It had been designed to accommodate her worgen's body as well as her human so once the cords at neck and waist were loosened sufficiently it slid down easily, revealing in turn her small firm breasts, her softly rounded belly, her hips, her well-muscled legs. As the gown pooled at her feet I took a step back and just gazed at her. In my eyes she was perfect. All the battle scars that marked her body, the tracery of silvery stretch marks on her belly, even the livid red death wound under her ribs; I saw none of them as blemishes; they were all part of what made her so uniquely Nerissina.

She looked up at me and for a moment I saw anxiety cross her face; until I smiled and again took her in my arms.

"You are beautiful," I whispered. I felt the heat deep within my core as my blood magic activated, prompted by her closeness.

"My turn now," she replied grinning mischievously, feeling as I did my body's reaction. She grasped the hem of my shirt and pulled it up, standing on tiptoe to get it over my head before tossing it to one side. For a moment she cast an appraising look over me, although she wasn't seeing anything new at that point; she'd seen me shirtless often enough before. Slowly, achingly so, she let her hands trail over my belly and I caught my breath. She let out a low chuckle at my discomfort before relenting. It took a mere moment for her to unbuckle my belt and unfasten my trousers. Gently she eased them and my underpants down over my hips until gravity took over and they fell to my ankles. I stepped out of them and stood there in front of her.

"Don't see a problem there," she said, glancing down. I followed her gaze and grinned. Obviously blood magic was useful for more than just combat.

I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the bed. For some time we just lay there exploring each other's bodies. There was no rush; we had all the time in the world.

At first we didn't even touch each other's private places, there was so much else to learn about what we enjoyed. In the end it was Nerissina who made the first move. I think she realised that I was still unsure of myself and if the decision were left to me things might go no further.

"No more delays," she whispered as her hand moved down my body, over my belly, between my legs, gently caressing me. It was the last push that I needed. My erection was painfully hard as I pulled her against me, needing the release that only she could grant me.

"Wait, Gillaen."

With an effort I held still, wondering what was wrong. She reached out to grab a small bottle from the table beside the bed. Kneeling over me she poured a little of the sweet-scented oil it contained into her hand and applied it to me.

"It will make it easier."

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in; her touch was pushing me ever closer to the edge. But she was right; our undead bodies produced no natural lubrication, without the oil we would only cause ourselves pain. Increasingly incapable of coherent thought or speech I watched her as she set the bottle aside.

Smiling she lifted herself up and so slowly lowered herself onto me. It was too much and I lost any self-control I had left. Grabbing her round the hips I thrust into her hard and she cried out in pain. I froze. What had I done? Too late to hold back I'd felt what should not have been there as I tore through it. I cursed under my breath as I held her close. The necromancer who'd raised her from the dead had, with some perverted sense of humour, restored her virginity along with the rest of her body. If I'd known I'd have taken more time, more care; but in my ignorance I'd thought only of my own selfish need and had hurt the woman I loved more than life itself.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. It was so inadequate, but what else could I say?

Nerissina lifted her head from my chest and gazed at me.

"It's all right, not your fault."

She began to move against me, setting a slow but insistent rhythm until I hardened again. This time I let her take the lead as she brought us to a simultaneous shuddering climax.

After a moment she lowered her upper body to once again lay on my chest. As her eyes closed I brushed aside a strand of sweat dampened red hair that trailed over her face. Gently I kissed the top of her head as I pulled a blanket over us.

"I love you," I whispered as I too closed my eyes and joined her in sleep.


	5. Chapter 5 Gillaen and Garona

Gillaen

I stood to one side watching as Thorn dealt with the followers who had returned from their missions and were reporting on their success or occasional failure, and handing in whatever they'd been sent to find. Sometimes I couldn't figure why we wanted these things, but Thorn seemed to know what she was doing so I left it up to her.

The last of the followers wandered off to get a meal before taking a new assignment and I too turned to walk away.

"Just a minute, Commander."

Thorn's low throaty voice stopped me in my tracks. I paused on the bottom step and looked back up at her.

"There's still one missing."

"Who?"

"The orc. She should have been back hours ago. I sent her on a simple retrieval mission to see how she worked out. Nothing too difficult, she should have handled it easily."

"Let me guess, it involved stealth."

She nodded.

"I did warn you. She's not as good at that as she likes to think. She nearly got me killed trying to sneak into Bladefury's Command. Jothan could've managed better than her. Hell, even one of SI7's newest recruits could."

I sighed.

"I suppose we'll have to rescue her. Let me see, send Lantresor and Rulkan. Let her see how orcs are supposed to carry out missions."

"Yes, sir," she replied, and I could hear the amusement in her voice. Garona had done nothing but rub the other two orcs up the wrong way since she'd arrived. She would hate being rescued by them.

"And when she wants a new assignment, give her this one," I said pointing out the sheet of paper that had caught my eye.

"For two weeks."

I was relaxing outside in the sun when the trio of orcs returned. Lantresor and Rulkan nodded to me as they passed; Garona slunk by with her head bowed. I left it to Thorn to deal with; she was so much better at handing out discipline than me. I don't know what she said to Garona, but half the garrison heard the orc's reaction to her new assignment.

"Latrine duty?!"


	6. Broken

Broken

 **For the benefit of those who haven't read the Bearheart Chronicles, a brief introduction to my characters and their complicated relationships. You can skip this if you're not interested.**

 **Death knights - Gillaen (human) and Nerissina (worgen)**

 **Druids - Arrentai (worgen) and Ceryth (night elf)**

 **Hunters – Jassenth (human), Maelinastra and Maeryth (night elf), Nieh (draenei)**

 **Mage – Josstellan (night elf) and Raewynn (human)**

 **Paladins – Hestia (human) and Aralen (dwarf)**

 **Priests – Kayllen (draenei) and Taliesa (worgen)**

 **Rogues – Jothan (human) and Rosamyna (night elf)**

 **Shaman – Gemelissa (draenei) and Sylviane (dwarf)**

 **Warlock – Lizabetha (human)**

 **Warriors – Lissan (human) and Amarya (dwarf)**

 **Pairings -**

 **Gillaen and Nerissina, Arrentai and Lizabetha, Josstellan and Maelinastra, Jothan and Hestia, Aralen and Amarya, Kayllen and Gemelissa, Lissan and Jassenth.**

 **Arrentai and Nerissina are former lovers and have a grown up daughter, Taliesa. Rosamyna has a troll lover with whom she has a child.**

-Gillaen

I couldn't believe what I'd just seen. Couldn't believe how quickly everything could fall apart, could go so disastrously wrong.

It had started with a letter. Halfway through a normal uneventful day at the garrison Thorn had handed me a letter. Written on heavy parchment and sealed with the king's crest on blue sealing wax, it was no ordinary letter. I unfolded it and read it slowly, disbelief filling my mind.

The Burning Legion had returned.

Stormwind must have send out hundreds of these letters, printed en masse, with only our names handwritten. Our king had called on us to go to the Broken Isles, to try to drive back the Burning Legion before they could destroy our world. I was to gather together a troop of soldiers and supporting personnel and join the army about to sail from Stormwind.

I went in search of Nerissina and our friends, and showed them the letter. Without exception they chose to come with me. I ordered Lord Selterus and the other officers to ready their troops. Most would accompany us, leaving Thorn to command the garrison with just a handful of troops and of course our followers.

Josstellan opened a portal and we marched through, arriving in the forest just outside Stormwind's gates. The whole area was filled with troops from every race in the Alliance. To my surprise there was a further group of friends waiting for us, some I would have expected, others less so, and one or two unknown to me.

Josstellan, Maelinastra, Arrentai and Lizabetha had come from Draenor with Nerissina and I. We were joined by Jothan and Hestia, Lissan and his companion, a young hunter named Jassenth who seemed not much older than Taliesa. Joss and Maeli were joined by three other kaldorei, his sister Maeryth, her cousin Rosamyna and an older white haired male who was introduced to us as Maelinastra's uncle Ceryth. I'd never met him before, but apparently Arrentai had, both being druids. Aralen and Amarya Barleyleaf were there too, accompanied by her sister Sylviane, a shaman.

We made camp there, awaiting orders. It was almost nightfall when a messenger came to tell us that we would be embarking on the ships in the morning after last preparations.

As darkness fell I sat watching as my troop took their evening meal. How many of them, I wondered, would return? Would I? We were soldiers, casualties were an expected part of our life and we were going up against an enemy few of us had ever dealt with. I knew that not all of us would survive.

I turned my gaze upon the civilians in my group. Some were family, others I counted among my friends, many of them had children who needed them to return. And I was responsible for them all. Nerissina came and sat beside me and I put my arm round her. I didn't care if it was bad for discipline, letting the men see me hugging her, but it was good for me and I needed the reassurance of her closeness. I wasn't the only one who felt that way; I saw Arrentai holding Lizabetha close. They'd had to leave their infant son in Draenor and she was clearly upset about that, but determined to pit her own demons against the Burning Crusade to help keep the world safe for him.

After what seemed the longest night ever we packed up our camp and headed through the city to the docks. The sight that met our eyes was unbelievable. There were ships as far as the eye could see, and every square inch of the quayside was covered with recruiting officers, support services, supplies, war machines; everything we might possibly need. And so many troops!

Once we'd signed up we were told to get our armour repaired and re-enchanted at the dwarven forges, and our weapons embued with Light empowered enhancements from draenei crystals. Then we were given our ship assignments and told to board. I led my troop along the dock to our ship to encouraging comments from the dockworkers there. I couldn't help but be aware of how differently we death knights were being regarded now. Today I wasn't a shunned unwanted former enemy of the people; I was one of a vast army of heroes going out to defend our world against destruction.

As each ship was filled it set sail. The Broken Isles were not so far away and with the aid of mage magic speeding our ships we got there within days. We didn't wait for the entire army to arrive, there wasn't time for that. As soon as each ship arrived at the Broken Shore we disembarked and joined the battle already raging. It was a terrible place, dark, desolate, full of fel magic and strange un-nameable structures that seemed to just push their way up out of the ground. I'd never before encountered anything like it.

We fought our way off the shore, battling demons all the way, with orders to join up with the king and the rest of the army already ahead of us. All the time reinforcements were arriving and joining us, but it seemed it would never be enough; no matter how many we were the demons were more.

Eventually we caught up with the front lines; and during a brief lull in the fighting I went to see if there were any new orders. I arrived in time to hear the king asking members of the Argent Crusade if they'd seen Tirion Fordring. No one seemed to know where he was; he'd been leading the crusaders, as always in the thickest of the fighting and had simply disappeared from sight.

We had to shut down the demons' portals, we were told; we had to stop them reaching our world from the Twisting Nether, from their own un-named worlds. That made sense to me; cutting off an enemy's supply lines was always a good move.

And so we fought on, climbing ever higher into the demons' domain, until at last Lady Jaina Proudmoore was heard to call out that she'd found Tirion. It wasn't easy to move forward, the ground was broken up, split by wide chasms of glowing fel fluids, impossible for us to cross. But Jaina had the answer to that. She and her fellow mages worked together to make incredibly strong ice bridges across the chasms. We crossed them, forging ahead as best we could, but we were too late.

Gul'dan had the paladins' leader captive, using his foul magic to suspend him over an immense pool of the fel fluid. There was no way to reach him; none of our magics were strong enough. I tried, I'm sure other death knights did too, to use death grip to pull him to safety, but we couldn't reach. Gul'dan knew enough about our abilities and limitations to taunt us that way.

Horrified we could only watch as Gul'dan summoned a massive demon that rose out of the fluid, and killed Tirion. Gul'dan let his body drop into the fel fluid. The demon waded towards us and we engaged it in combat, it was strong, so much so that we seemed to make hardly any impact on it. The Horde army that had come up on the opposite side of the pool also joined the fight and slowly we wore the demon down as it waded back and forth between our two forces, and eventually it fell.

"We must stop Gul'dan!" the king yelled; and after exchanging a few brief words with Sylvanas Windrunner he led us in pursuit.

At the height of the mountain we caught up with him, seemingly alone and the king called on him to surrender. He simply mocked us as all around him appeared an army of demons. The battle was fierce and bloody, and we lost a lot of good men and women that day. Even so, with the Horde fighting alongside us we seemed to be holding out, getting the upper hand even. Then in the blink of an eye it had fallen apart.

For reasons known only to herself Sylvanas Windrunner, leading the Horde contingent fighting on the cliffs above us, pulled her fighters out, retreated without warning. Without their support we had no chance. The king ordered us to fall back to the Skyfire and reluctantly we obeyed. Those of us more heavily armed, warriors, paladins, death knights, the king himself, stayed on the ground to hold back the demons as the more vulnerable, light-armoured fighters, the hunters, rogues, shaman, the spellcasters, the mages and priests, climbed the swaying rope to get on board, the injured being hauled up by their fellows or carried through portals opened briefly by the mages. No one would be left behind if we could help it.

The king ordered the rest of us on board. I looked around, made sure that Nerissina and Hestia were safe. I saw both climbing the ladders. I hoped the others who'd come with me were safe, I'd lost track of most of them in the fighting. Lissan, beside me, gave a nod as he began to climb. I saw the king begin to climb and did likewise. It wasn't easy, we were exhausted and 45 pounds of plate armour will weigh you down at the best of times.

I was close to the top when the demons starting attacking the gunship and we were taking damage, despite the best efforts of Mekkatorque's finest engineers. The demons were firing bolts of fel energy at us that shook the ship in the sky. I heard Greymane call out to the engineers to get us out of there, but before they could do so a massive fel reaver reared up out of the fel flames below us and grabbed the side of the ship. It tilted, spilling men from the deck, causing some of those on the ladders to lose their grip. I watched helplessly as they plunged to their deaths. I too might have fallen had I not felt the unmistakable pull of a death grip. I glanced up to see Nerissina above me; then looked away again.

The king, mere yards from me, had lost his grip and was hanging on by one hand as Greymane tried to reach him from the deck. I saw his expression as he watched his men falling, as he glanced down at the demonic construct. Briefly he reached up to hand Greymane a letter, his words lost in the noise. I reached out to death grip him, but he saw and shook his head. Horrified, I could only watch as he let go and dropped onto the reaver's head. Again and again he plunged his sword into its skull until it released the ship and fell. Landing on the ground out of the reach of any of us, Varian pulled his sword into its two halves and fought against the demons that surrounded him. Helpless, we watched as he was struck down and that foul orc Gul'dan drained the life from him.

I clung there in shock as the gunship lurched again, avoiding yet another fel missile.

"Gillaen, climb!" I heard Nerissina call, and aided by her death grip I obeyed. Strong hands pulled me over the rail and I collapsed, shaking, onto the deck, hearing the voices of my friends around me. I remember very little of the voyage home, all I clearly recall is the voices of Arrentai and Hestia as they tried to give me healing that I neither needed nor wanted. I just wanted to be left alone to come to terms with what I'd seen. In the end a childish display of temper got me what I wanted and I retreated to a corner on my own. Even Nerissina kept away, turning instead to Arrentai for comfort.

I finally came to my senses as we flew into Stormwind harbour, emerging from my isolation to rejoin my companions.

Nerissina told me that Greymane had asked to speak to me. With Varian's loss the Gilnean king had taken control of our forces and was busy making plans to repair the damage we'd taken and to continue the fight; now he wanted me to take Varian's letter and give it to his son, the new king of Stormwind. I took the sealed scroll and tucked it safely in the pouch at my belt before asking him why he did not take it himself.

"I can't face another funeral," he replied. "I've seen enough suffering for a lifetime. What I need now is to bring justice to our enemies."

We were loaned gryphons belonging to the Gilnean army to get us to the keep, to save us from having to cross the city on foot or horseback. I was grateful for that, I dreaded seeing the grief on the faces of all the people. We were dropped off at the gates to the keep where we gathered as a group. I was selfishly glad that all those I cared about had made it through the ordeal alive if not unscathed.

Arrentai

I couldn't blame my brother for the way he behaved on the Skyfire on the journey home. I'd seen soldiers affected like this before, so badly traumatised by what they'd gone through that they couldn't face reality, retreating instead to a place where they felt safe. I hadn't seen what happened to the king; I'd been helping the healers on board to deal with the many casualties. Nerissina told me the details later.

What I saw was Hestia, herself covered in blood and Light knows what else, trying to help Gillaen and being pushed away, to the accompaniment of a mouthful of abuse fouler than I'd ever heard from him before. I finished dealing with my patient and handed him over to a young priest to be helped below deck before going to see if I could do anything. Hestia sat where she'd fallen staring horrified at Gillaen.

"I couldn't save him," he was ranting. "I couldn't fucking save him. He wouldn't let me death grip him."

I glanced at Nerissina in hope of an explanation.

"The king. Gillaen was close enough to death grip him, but he wouldn't accept it. He didn't fall, he deliberately let go, sacrificed himself to save us from the fel reaver."

As she spoke I cautiously scanned Gillaen with my magic to see if he was injured, but he had only a few superficial wounds that his blood magic would deal with.

"Leave me alone," he snapped. "I don't want your bloody healing. What right have I to be alive when good men like Varian and Tirion are dead."

I couldn't handle his tantrum. I'd been healing throughout the fighting, continuing to do so after I got on board, and I was exhausted and mana-starved. I stumbled away in search of a supply of mana potions before I collapsed. I plucked a bottle from a crate and sat down on the deck beside it, struggling to get the cap off. A small hand reached out and took it from me, returning it minus the cap. I drank it straight down. It was the strongest potion made and it hardly took the edge off my need. Hestia handed me another bottle which I drank more slowly.

"What's with Gillaen's aversion to healing?" she asked.

"It's the Light. It burns him as it heals. He'll only accept it as a last resort."

"Oh! I didn't know."

"Not your fault. Most healers don't know unless they deal with death knights on a regular basis. Just leave him until he calms down."

A third bottle of potion restored me to the point that I felt able to continue healing. I got to my feet and with a nod to Hestia I wandered off in search of more patients. Most of them seemed to have been taken below decks now so I headed down there. A familiar voice caught my attention and I turned to see Kayllen busily at work. His wife Gemelissa was there too.

"Anything I can do to help?" I offered. I was pointed in the direction of a death knight who shared Gillaen's aversion to the Light and was weakly fighting off the priest trying to help him even as his guts were spilling out of a gaping hole in his side. I knelt at his side and gently let my magic touch him. At once he stopped fighting and let me repair the damage. He looked so young, as though he'd had hardly any life at all before being taken in undeath. As he subsided into sleep I looked up at the priest and got the shock of my life.

"Taliesa! What are you doing here?" I demanded of my daughter. Last I'd seen her she was still in training at the cathedral.

"I had to come," she replied nervously. "I couldn't just stay in Stormwind while everyone was saving the world. And Kayllen insisted I stay on the Skyfire. So don't be angry with him."

I had no intention of blaming my friend. I knew my headstrong daughter too well for that. She was like her mother in that respect. I was just thankful that she was unharmed. By the end of the day I had assured myself that little harm had come to our friends. Ceryth seemed to be the worst injured, having taken a gash to the face that had blinded him in one eye and would leave him with a scar. He was remarkably sanguine about it, declaring that it wouldn't stop him from fighting. As he usually fought in cat form he was probably right. Though what Raewynn would have to say was another matter entirely.

By the time we reached Stormwind harbour Gillaen had calmed down enough to seem like his usual self, although he still wanted to be left alone. More than once I caught Nerissina watching him anxiously, as worried about him as I was. I knew how much he had respected both Tirion and Varian; Tirion had been his commanding officer when he'd been a paladin, and Varian had accepted him back into the Alliance when so many had rejected him. He was feeling their loss badly.

Genn Greymane had taken over command of the army and sent a message by way of Nerissina asking Gillaen to speak to him. As a result we were asked to report to the keep, to the king; the new king Anduin Wrynn.

Tess Greymane and Lorna Crowley organised gryphons for us to ride so we could get there quickly. It was just as well, most of us had no mounts; Gillaen and Nerissina could of course have summoned their death chargers, and Lizabetha her fel steed, and Ceryth and I didn't need them anyway; but the others had no such ability and we were all weary. We were dropped off at the gate, nothing was allowed to fly in for fear of attack, and there was a profusion of guards both the usual soldiers and magic users. No one was taking any chances.

As a group we walked up the steps to the doors, watched over by the statue of Varian Wrynn. We were allowed in; no one, I noticed, was forbidden entry. With the amount of guards present no enemy was likely to try anything.

With Gillaen leading we walked though the keep to the throne room. The first thing anyone noticed on entering was the coffin; large, ornate, with an effigy of Varian on top, it was rightly the focal point of the room. It had to be empty, there was no way the king's body could have been recovered, but that didn't matter to the mourners who came to pay their last respects to the king they'd loved. It was a symbol of the man he'd been, larger than life and always there for his people. Each of us in turned bowed or knelt before the coffin and offered our silent prayers for Varian's soul.

Then we walked round the coffin to face our new king. Anduin sat on the throne, his shoulders slouched, looking helplessly out of place. He made no effort to hide his grief, but none of us thought any the less of him for that. He was little more than a child and had not expected this responsibility for many years yet. We bowed to him and acknowledged the leaders of all the Alliance factions who were gathered round him, ready to offer their support and help. There was clearly some disagreement among them though. Most were advocating working with the Horde to fight the Burning Legion, but not Jaina Proudmoore; she still could not forgive them for Theramore and argued that they could never be trusted. Their actions at Broken Shore proved this she insisted, but I felt there had to be a reason for that; and so too did the other leaders. In the end Anduin went with the majority, the obvious decision, and Jaina left in a huff.

Anduin looked round at us all as he said,

"My father dead... disaster on the Broken Shore... Jaina fixed on revenge... Everything is falling apart."

Gillaen handed him a scroll, a last letter from his father, and we waited patiently as he read it. After a few moments of silence he thanked us for bringing it. Then our attention was caught by a conversation between Malfurion Stormrage and his wife Tyrande. They were talking about the Illidari, a group of demon hunters created and led by Malfurion's brother Illidan. He was uneasy that they had been released from their long imprisonment, she insisting that the situation must warrant it.

Only then did I notice a man who stood apart. Clearly once kaldorei he must be of what they spoke. Dressed only in leather trousers and boots, his body was tattooed with bright green markings, he had horns like a demon's and his eyes were concealed by a bandage. He bore in his hands matching warglaives. Curiously I stepped towards him and he turned to face me. I had the indisputable feeling that, blind as he was, he saw everything.

"I am Jace Darkweaver," he said quietly.

"I bring urgent news, my king. Danger is all around you."

Anduin regarded him curiously.

"I will hear what this demon hunter has to say."

Jace explained quickly that the demons were even now moving against us, targeting key locations around Azeroth to open portals to allow them to invade.

"Even here in your keep you are not safe. I sense them close by."

"Show us!" I said, sensing his urgency. I too could feel a wrongness about us, but I didn't have his ability to see the demons. Behind me I was aware of my companions drawing weapons, readying spells, prepared to defend our king.

The demon hunter strode up to one of the guards and challenged him; before our eyes he transformed and ordered his fellow demons to attack.

Jace yelled, "Portals opening! Here they come!"

The next moment we were surrounded and fighting for our lives. I saw Velen cast a shield of light around the king as the leaders surrounded him, their own weapons out. He was safe enough; we had to take down the demons and their portals. Gillaen took command, ordering us to search the keep for the portals and destroy them. Demons were pouring in from the courtyard. Changing to my cat form, I stealthed past them and found the portal. It was fragile enough that several blows from my staff smashed it. I turned my attention to the demons that surrounded me. With the help of the guards, servants, even the scholars from the library I fought them until eventually there were none left in that part of the keep.

I made my way back to the throne room. Bodies, mostly demonic, lay everywhere. Jothan appeared from the passageway to the entrance. He and Lissan had found another portal in the petitioner's room. That too was destroyed and the demons being killed.

Slowly we all gathered back in the throne room to report that the keep was once more safe.

Anduin look at us, one by one.

"This attack... even the battle on the Broken Shore... it's only the beginning of the Legion's campaign," he said.

"If we don't find a way to stop them, we're going to lose everything my father and the other leaders built. We need the strength of the Illidari behind us. I was unsure at first if it was wise to let them into the city, but they just saved our lives by Jace's timely warning.

"Arrentai, I gave them leave to set up camp in the Mage quarter; go to them, thank them for their help so far; and find out how else they can aid us."

He hesitated for a moment before continuing. I could tell he wanted to trusted them, but was all too aware of what they were.

"Just keep your eyes open. They've harnessed a terrible power to become what they are, and we must be ready should they be consumed by the darkness within."

I nodded, understanding his caution.

Looking round I saw that Gillaen was gathering our group together. Aside from a few more minor injuries they were all okay. Together we left the keep and gathered on the steps outside to discuss our next move.

Gillaen needed to go and check on his men; I had to visit the Illidari as Anduin had requested; Aralen and Amarya, and Jothan and Hestia all wanted to check that their children were unharmed. The healers, my daughter included, were going to the cathedral, and Rosamyna wanted to make a report to SI7. We agreed that we would deal with these things and any other errands; then meet up at Jothan's farm to discuss the future. There was never any doubt in our minds that we would be facing it together.

Rosamyna

I hurried through the old town, slipping quickly past the crowds that filled the streets. I knew Matthias Shaw would want to hear what had just happened in the keep, and he always preferred first-hand accounts. I'd offered to go because I could see how badly Jothan wanted to check up on his family. I wanted to see my son too, but he was back in Darnassus along with Maeli and Joss' baby daughter. We knew they were safe there in the care of our family, but it didn't make it any easier being apart from them at so young an age. Such was the way of life for the kaldorei though; if we had a job to do or military service we gave our children into the care of our extended family.

Saying that I'd come from the keep got me an immediate audience with Matthias and I quickly filled him in on what had happened. He knew of Gillaen and Arrentai; SI7 had worked with the Bearheart brothers before, in Pandaria and in Draenor, and he knew their reputation for getting the job done.

"Stay with them," he told me. "Give them whatever help they need and keep me informed."

"What about Jothan Thoresson? I asked. "He's part of their family. He'll want to work with them."

"Two heads are better than one, my dear," he said. "Both of you stay with them."

I left him and visited the quartermaster to stock up on poisons and antidotes, taking enough for Jothan too. Then at the forge I had my weapons repaired and re-sharpened; all of them, not just the ones I used most often. I was taking no chances.


	7. Broken - Aftermath

Gillaen

I headed back to the docks with Nerissina. Thanks to Greymane sending me to the palace I'd had no chance to check on the men of my platoon, and I needed to know if they were all right. The harbourmaster told me they'd been moved to temporary quarters near the docks. There were so many returning troops, so many casualties, that the barracks couldn't contain them all. Empty buildings had been commandeered and temporary shelters had been erected wherever there was an open space. We were directed to a warehouse close by the harbour that had been converted into a makeshift hospital. As we entered I gazed about in dismay. So many of my troops had been injured to some degree, and they were being tended by healers, druids and shaman working alongside the surgeons. At least someone had the sense to know that priests and paladins would be unacceptable to death knights.

Lord Selterus came up to me, a clipboard in his hand. For once I was grateful for his cold emotionless detachment as he filled me in on the details. More than two thirds of my troops had been injured and of those many had died or would likely die soon. For us there was the option of being raised again, but how many I wondered would make that choice or would they prefer to let it end here and go into the Light. I couldn't say for sure what my choice would be in their situation.

Selterus handed me a final list.

"These are the ones who didn't come back," he said quietly.

I read it in silence. There were too many names. And this was only our first battle in this war against the Burning Legion.

When Nerissina and I eventually left the hospital I turned our steps towards the Cathedral. Nerissina made no protest, by now she understood my need to seek some kind of peace there. We weren't alone; many people had gone there to pray, or to seek solace or guidance. She waited patiently as I knelt to pray until I rejoined her and we left the city to seek our friends at Jothan's farm.


	8. Jubilante chapter 1

Jubilante wandered out of the gate and into the woods. The sun was warm on her shoulders, the gentle breeze lightly ruffling her loose black hair. At the lakeside she sat down and, closing her eyes, opened her mind to the flow of the magic about her. Close by she heard the soft fluttering of wings as her dragonhawk hatchling Azura arrived and settled beside her. Perfectly relaxed, she began to doze and was unaware of the footsteps behind her until she felt hands grasp her shoulders.

Instantly alert she grabbed the hands, twisting round and bringing the newcomer to the ground. Pinning him down by sitting astride his torso she looked down and laughed. Tyriyan looked totally stunned. He'd expected to catch her unaware and had been unprepared for the speed of her reaction.

"Good," he said. "You're quick, girl, but don't let people sneak up on you like that. I could have slit your throat before you knew it."

"No chance! I might not have heard you, but I felt the disturbance in the magic."

"I've been watching you, Jubilante Brightstar. You'll be a fine paladin when you've finished your training. I'd be happy to fight alongside you."

"Only fight?" she asked coyly. Tyriyan reached up, grasped her shoulders and pulled her down so he could kiss her.

"Oh no, so much more; when you're no longer a child."

"What?"

Jubilante pulled away from his embrace, sitting up straight and accidentally transferring most of her weight to a delicate part of his anatomy.

With a sharp intake of breath he caught hold of her hands before she could hit him.

"You're so easy to tease. I know you're not a child now. And if you don't move you're going to find out exactly how I feel about that."

Her eyes widened as she realised what he meant and she quickly moved. Tyriyan closed his eyes and lay unmoving as he regained control of his body. When he opened them again she was sitting a short distance away, her back to him and her head bowed.

Softly he said her name as he sat up and brushed loose grass and petals from his hair and clothes. After a moment she raised her head and glanced round at him. He felt his tenuous self-control weakening.

"This is neither the time nor the place for this," he muttered tensely.

"What do you suggest then?"

"Stop it, Jubilante. Before things go too far. Don't start anything you can't finish."

"Oh; I can finish it." She arose agilely and took the few steps to his side; holding out her hand.

"But can you?"

With a muttered oath Tyriyan sprang to his feet, caught hold of her hand and led her to a quieter area, sheltered from view where they could find the privacy they so urgently needed.

Afterwards they lay there covered by Tyriyan's cloak watching the sky through the trees as it gradually darkened to night. By the time they returned to Silvermoon it was fully dark. Jubilante went with Tyriyan to his home rather than going back to her family. And the next day she moved in with him permanently.

For a while they were happy. Jubilante continued her training as a paladin, learning healing as well as fighting; Tyriyan served in the city guard; and they even talked about starting a family.

Then war came. An ever-growing army of demons and undead led by a renegade human prince laid waste to the human kingdom of Lordaeron then turned its sights on Quel'thalas. It invaded, leaving a trail of destruction through the land, slaughtering thousands and raising them to join its army. It seemed unstoppable. Jubilante, newly pregnant, stayed in the supposed safety of Silvermoon; Tyriyan joined the army fighting against Arthas and the Scourge. He never returned. Jubilante was told only that he had fallen in battle.

Grieving for him she fled from Silvermoon; for over half a year, going from place to place to escape the Scourge. Then in a quiet out of the way village she gave birth to her son. Now there was nothing to stop her from seeking to avenge her lost love.

Leaving her child in the care of the blacksmith's family she set out to join the conflict. Wherever she came across demons or undead she slaughtered them mercilessly until at last the Scourge was driven from Quel'thalas. Suddenly Jubilante found herself without purpose to her life. She had no interest in helping to rebuild Silvermoon; it was no longer her home. Her family had died; everyone she cared about was gone.

After wandering aimlessly for a while she returned to the village. She made no effort to reclaim her son. In her depressed state she could barely care for herself. But the blacksmith, Salyr Stormwhisper, took her in and encouraged her to work with him.

So that was her life for the next eight years. As apprentice to the blacksmith she learned his trade as she watched her son grow. She could never forget her grief for Tyriyan, but eventually she learned to cope with it; to live a normal life.

Then rumours started reaching the village about the defeat of the Lich King and the freeing of his death knights. The family talked about the news, wondering how the death knights would find a place in the world.

"They'll never come here," Jubilante opined. "They are too much like the undead that destroyed our homes. No one would ever accept them."

She didn't say aloud, but she knew that if she came across one of those undead abominations she would kill them. She could see no difference between them and the Scourge that had killed her lover.

Then a few weeks later Jubilante travelled to Silvermoon to deliver some weapons. As she rode through the bazaar she noticed a handful of warriors different from any she'd ever seen before. Clad in dark undecorated armour with hoods or horned helmets hiding their faces they were intimidating, and most people gave them a wide berth.

Stopping outside the weaponry shop she took her bundle from its place behind the saddle and carried it inside. While the vendor was examining the weapons she stood watching out of the door. One of the warriors was standing across the street apparently watching the shop.

"Who are those dark warriors?" she asked. "No one seems to like them much."

"Small wonder," the vendor replied. "They're death knights. Nobody wants them here. But the Warchief has accepted them into the Horde, and so we have to tolerate them."

Jubilante shuddered.

"Not me. Those foul creatures and their demon masters killed our families, destroyed our world. I'll never forgive them for that."

"Then you'd best stay away. You start a fight with them, the guardians will arrest you."

"I won't be staying here. I'll go home as soon as I'm done."

She turned away from the door.

"Will you give me the usual price?"

He nodded.

"They're excellent quality as usual."

Jubilante watched him count out a neat pile of gold coins onto the counter. She scooped them up into her hand and dropped them into the pouch at her belt. Thanking him she took the now empty bag the weapons had been in and turned away.

"Remember, Jubilante, don't cause trouble. I'd hate to lose my best supplier."

She glanced back, favoured him with one of her rare smiles, and left.

Her horse was waiting patiently. It turned its head to regard her as she pushed the rolled up bag into a saddlebag, the plates of its armour clinking softly and reflecting the light as it moved. She took up the reins, gently fondly its head as she did so. Apart from her son and Azura it was the only creature she loved.

Side by side they walked across the bazaar towards the bank. She kept her free hand on her sword hilt. She wasn't comfortable carrying so much gold on her; she'd be happier once it was deposited in her account.

When she came out of the bank, a death knight, the same one that had been outside the armourer's, was standing near the garden that filled the centre of the bazaar. Tall, dark, anonymous, it seemed to be watching her; but with its face concealed by a hood she couldn't be sure. It made her distinctly uneasy.

She abandoned any thought of dealing with her other errands; she wanted to get away from Silvermoon. Mounting her horse she turned his head towards the nearby gate that led out of the city. As she rode away she thought she was free of the unwelcome observer. Then she glanced back and saw that it was following her, always keeping its distance but nonetheless shadowing her. She couldn't lose it; but neither would she lead it back to the village and put her son or her friends in danger. She made the only decision she could. She pulled to a halt, dismounted and drew her sword. The area was deserted; no one else around to get hurt or to witness what happened.

The death knight stopped its mount several yards away and sat there watching. Jubilante stared at the beast curiously. Roughly equine in appearance, seemingly no more than bones and sinews, with large curved horns on its head; nevertheless it was strong enough to bear the weight of its dread rider.

"What do you want with me?" she called out.

"I'm not going anywhere until you answer me."

For some moments the death knight just sat there, motionless. Then it dismounted and walked towards her. It made no effort to draw its own weapon but she remained alert.

"Jubilante!" the voice was soft, hollow sounding, but vaguely familiar.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"I knew you long ago."

"I know none of your kind, monster. You lie."

She raised her sword.

"The only thing I want from you is to see you die by my sword."

Without warning she sprang forward, swinging her sword in a swift arc that should have taken its head off. But her sword met the edge of the death knight's blade. Moving faster than she could have imagined it had drawn its sword and parried her blow. Stunned, she hesitated; but it did not press its advantage.

"I will not resist if you wish to kill me," it whispered, "Only first look upon my face; see the man I once was. Then end my torment."

It raised its dark gauntleted hands and slowly pushed the hood back. At first all she saw was the blank glow of the eyes in the pale face; then the long golden hair. Recognition came; she dropped her sword and sank to her knees weeping.

"I can't," she cried.

It was Tyriyan.


	9. Jannyta

The Adventures of a Very Small Death Knight

The battle seemed to have gone on forever. The Scourge troops seemed endless; no matter how many the paladins cut down there were always more.

The little gnome priest worked ceaselessly. She'd come out from Andorhal to help the healers on the battlefield, but it all seemed hopeless. Every man she healed and bandaged to be sent back out to fight sooner or later found his way back to her or the other healers.

Now the Scourge were getting closer to her position. Soon she'd have to fall back to the town, but she wouldn't leave the man she was tending. His leg had been broken in an explosion; she'd set it but the healing would take time to mend the bone and meanwhile he couldn't walk and she was waiting for stretcher bearers to fetch him.

"Leave me," he tried to insist. "Save yourself."

But she stayed by his side. Her first warning of the approaching Scourge was the look of anger on his face. Despite his pain, he struggled to his feet and snatched up his sword ready to fight again. He pushed her aside and raised his sword. He fought bravely, but there were too many; they surrounded him and one struck him from behind, a coward's blow that brought him down.

Horrified the gnome watched as the undead monster lowered the tip of its sword to the fallen paladin's body to steal his soul. Normally she was a placid little creature; but the sight of the Scourge abomination doing that to the man she given so much effort to heal made her mad.

Snatching up her staff she started hitting the thing, trying to stop it. She was too small; her blows were ineffectual, mere insect stings to the huge creature. Nor were her spells any more successful. It ignored all her efforts until it had finished with the paladin.

It turned then to look down at her with an evil grin.

"You're a brave little insect," it said. "You will amuse our master."

Too late she realised what it intended. She died swiftly as the icy blade pierced her heart and took her soul.

She awoke in the bowels of the floating necropolis of Acherus along with so many others who'd died in that terrible battle. Curiously she looked about her. As far as she could see were other warriors, many of them bearing obvious wounds that should have killed them; all wearing dark robes and hoods that seemed to soak up what little light there was. And each of them, no matter what race, had the same blank glow to their eyes. She looked down at her own body; she wore the same; she assumed her eyes were the same too.

She couldn't remember how she'd got there; in fact she couldn't remember anything at all, not even her own name. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, nor it seemed did anyone else. After some time she was told to go and speak to the instructor Razuvious. She found him on the upper level, a massive stern man who explained her new situation.

She was now a death knight and she would fight for the Lich King. The pain she felt in her stomach was not hunger as she had once known it, but a need to cause pain, to kill. She would always feel it and would only be able to control it by doing all that she was ordered.

"Okay," she said. She didn't question anything he said, accepting it as truth. It was now all she knew. First, he told her, she had to make her own weapon. She didn't think she'd ever done anything like that before, but she was sure she could do it. As she started to walk away Razuvious called her back.

"Don't you want to know your name?" he asked. She thought for a moment.

"Yes, I guess so," she replied. "Then I'll know if you're talking to me."

"You are Jannyta," he told her. "That may have been your name before or maybe not. It doesn't matter. But that is who you are now."

She nodded in agreement. "Okay, that's fine."

When she'd made her sword by re-forging an old weapon she took it back to Razuvious. He examined it critically then handed it back to her. Now she had to rune-forge it to make it more powerful. Again she found she knew how to do it. The sword looked good; long, broad bladed, the runes glowing on the blade; and it fitted her hands well as though it had always belonged there. She liked it very much.

"Now you are ready to test your weapon and show me how well you can fight. Take this key, unlock one of those prisoners, you may choose which, and fight them. To the death."

Jannyta looked down at the prisoners chained below her. They were all larger than her, a lot larger.

"You're joking, right?"

"No. You fight one of them and you live or die according to your skill."

"Okay."

Jannyta took the key and walked down into the arena. She looked around at the prisoners then glanced up at Razuvious, seeing the contempt on his face. So he didn't believe she could do it. She'd show him. Gnomes might be the smallest of the races but they did not lack courage. Deliberately she chose an orc, one of the largest of the prisoners.

"Will you fight me?" she asked, holding up the key. He raised his head and looked at her with empty eyes. Then he nodded and held out his manacled hands for her to release him. As the chains fell to the ground she stepped back waiting for him to choose a weapon from a nearby rack. He chose a massive axe, almost as big as she was. Then with a roar of rage he charged at Jannyta. If he thought she would run he was disappointed. At the last moment she stepped nimbly aside swinging her sword in an arc. It cut deeply into his leg, severing blood vessels and tendons. She might not remember that she had been a healer but the knowledge of anatomy was still deep in her mind telling her where to strike most effectively. Furiously the orc charged again, limping but still fast. This time Jannyta struck his other leg. Disabled he fell to his knees, weakening rapidly as his blood flowed. After that it was easy for Jannyta to strike his arms forcing him to drop the axe.

He met her gaze steadily. There was no fear there, only an acceptance of his fate as she thrust her sword into his heart and ended his life. Jannyta turned away and looked up at Razuvious. She felt no remorse for killing the orc. The ability to experience emotion was gone along with her soul. From now on all she would feel was anger, hatred and the all-consuming hunger to kill.

She was a death knight.

Jannyta served the Lich King well. She wasn't the most powerful fighter because of her diminutive size, but she had other strengths. She had a knack that many a rogue would envy for getting into places unseen and acquiring information. And a knack for getting information out of people who didn't want to talk. She knew just how to hurt people to make them eager to tell all they knew. Then she'd heal them and hurt them all over again; just for the fun of it.

Her commanding officer quickly learned of these abilities and made full use of them. After all General Sakatt knew how you had to use the strengths you had to get on in life; or in their case undeath. She too was a gnome.

Jannyta enjoyed it when she was sent to join in an aerial attack on their enemies. Riding on the back of one of the Scourge's massive skeletal winged mounts it didn't matter what size you were. It was fun dropping bombs, shooting their catapults and swooping down to let her mount feed on the soldiers. It would snatch them up, suck the life out of them and drop their empty bodies. If Jannyta timed it right, they got dropped right on top of other groups of fighters, scaring them silly. It made her laugh.

But eventually it all came to an end. The Lich King sent all his armies, thousands of death knights, abominations, ghouls; anything he could find really; against the Argent Dawn at a place called Light's Hope Chapel. As Jannyta sat there on her death charger it seemed to her they'd have an easy victory. The building was small, ramshackle, not easily defendable; and the Argent Dawn didn't seem to have many troops there; only a fraction of the amount the Scourge had mustered. She grinned with delight, anticipating all those new bodies to be raised in undeath.

She was wrong, so wrong. The Argent Dawn fought with a ferocity, a desperation, she had never seen before and the Scourge could not gain an inch of ground. Their warriors were falling quicker than she and the other healers could raise them. She herself had sustained several wounds and was seriously weakened.

At last their commander called a halt; he could see they were achieving nothing and dying needlessly. Too weary to stand any longer she sat down where she was in a slight hollow. Consequently, being so small, she saw and heard very little of what happened next.

She heard voices talking, arguing, but she could understand very little. Then there was a sudden flash of bright light. It hurt in so many ways. It blinded her; burned through her entire body, cleansing her of the evil, restoring her soul, awakening memories she thought lost forever.

And with that awakening came the full knowledge of what she had done and she burst into tears of guilt, shame, remorse. She had no idea how long she was there before she felt strong arms lift her up.

"Come, little one, let me help you," said a gentle deep man's voice. She made no effort to resist. She was hurting too much. She closed her eyes and let the darkness of sleep, something she had not known for so long, overtake her.

She awoke back in Acherus and for a moment she panicked. A gentle hand held her still.

"Calm down, little one. You're safe now." It was the same voice she remembered from the battlefield. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was a big man, tall, solid, all muscle. His hair was ash blonde, his skin pale, his eyes the pale glowing orbs that the entire Scourge shared. Then he smiled, a warm smile that made her forget what he was. Instinctively she trusted him.

"You're free now. The Lich King has gone. The Light has restored us."

"Is he dead?" she asked.

"Not yet. But soon we'll remedy that. Now, how do you feel?"

Feel? Yes, she could feel again.

"My body feels okay," she said slowly, "But..."

"You feel guilt for what you have done."

"Yes."

"We all feel that. What we've done can't be undone; but we can make amends of a sort. Highlord Mograine has given us the choice to return to our former people to serve them in whatever way we feel best. To earn our redemption."

"I like that," she said." I want to do that."

"It won't be easy," he warned her. "People will hate us, distrust us. They won't easily forget what we have done. And there is the hunger; unfortunately we're stuck with that. You have to learn to control it. You will need to be strong."

"I can do that. Us gnomes are tough; I remember that much."

He laughed.

"That's a good start," he said.

Jannyta looked at him more closely now.

"You seem familiar," she commented. "Have we met before? Before... you know..."

"Yes," he replied. "I remember a priest. I was injured on the battlefield. She healed me and watched over me as I recovered. Then the Scourge attacked again and I died. I'm sorry you did not escape, you should have run when I told you, but I owe you thanks for what you did."

"You're welcome," she said.

She was silent for a moment.

"It's a good thing gnomes live a long time. I think it's going to take some time for me to make amends for everything I did."

"You'll do fine, Jannyta," he said as he rose and walked away. After he was gone she realised she didn't know his name. But she had a feeling she'd be seeing more of that particular death knight.

Jannyta stayed at Acherus for some time, getting used to her new freedom, learning what she could now do. Occasionally she saw the big human, usually in the company of a worgen female, but somehow she never got the chance to speak to him.

After some weeks of training Jannyta felt ready to leave Acherus. She was summoned to see Highlord Mograine who looked down at her, reminded her to remember what she'd been taught, then handed her a letter addressed to King Varian Wrynn and sealed with red wax.

"Take this to the king," Mograine said. "He will decide your fate from now."

Nervously Jannyta took the letter, bowed and left. In the main chamber she found the big human waiting for her.

"I hear you're leaving us," he said.

Jannyta nodded, surprised at how quickly word got around.

"Don't worry. I'm sure everything will be fine. But if you have any problems, if you need to repair or improve your gear, you can come back here. Just use your Deathgate spell."

The little gnome stammered her thanks.

"Will you be here? Or are you leaving too?"

"I'm not ready to leave yet; but maybe one day soon…"

"You've been kind to me; I'd like to see you again. But I don't know your name."

He laughed.

"Did I forget to tell you? Sometimes I still forget that we are free once again to use our names, to be an individual. My name is Gillaen Bearheart. Now go, little one, seek your new life, make the best of what you have."

Gillaen watched as Jannyta walked up the steps to the portal that would take her to Stormwind.

She arrived at the gates of the capital city. For a moment she was puzzled, having assumed that she would go straight to the keep where the king lived. No matter; she'd find her way there. She could walk. She knew she'd have to; Gillaen had warned her not to summon her deathcharger within the human city. It would be too much a reminder of the necromantic powers that the Scourge had inflicted on her.

Jannyta began to walk through the gates, past the statues; and it was then she realised why she had to do it this way. It started with insults, from the guards, the citizens, even the children. Then they began throwing stuff at her; rotten vegetables, old fish bones, pieces of broken masonry. She saw the drawn weapons in their hands, heard the demands for her execution. She said nothing, gave no reaction, just kept walking. She felt tears prick her eyes, but she blinked them back; she would never let them see her cry. It was obvious to her now; this was a test. If she could endure this without breaking then she was strong enough to survive in this world.

At last she reached the keep. Pausing for a moment to brush the worst of the refuse from her armour she walked up the broad flight of stairs leading to the main door. With her short legs it was a struggle but she managed it. At the door she pulled out the letter from Highlord Mograine and showed it to the guard. He examined the writing on the outside while at the same time trying to keep his distance from her. She couldn't blame him; some of the stuff clinging to her armour was pretty rancid. She wondered briefly if people saved it up for occasions like this.

Eventually he admitted her; told her to go straight to the throne room, no detours on the way. She obeyed. The throne room was at the end of a long corridor, the servants she passed on the way were just as insulting as everyone else so she ignored them too. She was getting pretty good at that. She was allowed into the throne room where the king sat on his throne. He was a big man, a warrior, his armour, ornate and well cared for. Next to him sat an older man, grey haired, bearded. This she guessed was Genn Greymane, king of Gilneas.

She bowed to them both, first Varian, then Genn. She'd been brought up to have impeccable manners. Then she handed her letter to the king. He read it and nodded.

"Welcome to Stormwind, Jannyta," he said. We will be pleased to have you in our army."

She smiled, bowed again, then knelt to make her oath of loyalty.

For better or worse she was now a soldier in the army of the Alliance.

It was the screams, always the screams.

Night after night Jannyta was woken by the nightmares, seeing again the burning building, hearing the screams of the children as they died, suffocated by the thick blinding smoke.

The Scourge had marched through Lordaeron destroying everything in their path; killing all the adults and raising them to become part of their ever-growing army. It didn't matter what they'd been in life, once they were dead they were handed a weapon and ordered to fight. But the children; they were of no use to the Scourge, they couldn't fight or serve any useful purpose. They were simply butchered and left to rot.

At the last few villages Jannyta, who noticed things like that, had observed the absence of children and commented on it to General Sakatt. The little white haired gnome had grinned maliciously and said,

"We'll find them sooner or later. They can't hide them forever, and then we'll have such fun."

And at last they had found them, in the village of Galen's Fall. The people had hidden the children in the church hoping that they'd be safe on holy ground. And in a way they were. No Scourge warrior or minion could enter the building to slaughter them. But Sakatt didn't give up easily and she was determined to leave not one soul alive. So she taunted the priest who was watching over them until he came out to confront her. An elderly infirm dwarf paladin, a healer not a fighter, he never stood a chance. Before he could raise his mace for a single blow, she'd killed him. Then she ordered Jannyta to burn the church with the children inside.

Under her instructions a large quantity of dry wood and brush was gathered and piled high round the building. Then a warrior approached her with a lighted torch. Jannyta glanced at General Sakatt who sat on her horse nearby with the worgen warlock Luciefeu by her side. Sakatt nodded.

"Do it!" she ordered. Jannyta gestured to the warrior who strode forward and touched the flame to the wood, lighting it at several points before thrusting it deep into the pile. Dry from weeks of no rain it caught light easily and quickly spread over the building. The heat cracked the glass in the windows and the thick smoke given off by the green resinous wood filled the building.

The children screamed in terror, calling out for their parents. One or two older ones peered out of the open door but were too afraid to come further. Their parents, surrounded by heavily armed warriors, were forced to watch as their children died before they too were slaughtered and raised to undeath.

Gradually the screams died away as the children suffocated; then the roof caved in and brought with it the stench of burning flesh. Laughing gleefully, Sakatt turned her horse and rode away. Jannyta stared emotionlessly at the dying flames before she too turned away. She did not laugh. Although she followed Sakatt's orders without question she did not take the same pleasure in such needless slaughter.

As she urged her horse forward she felt the now familiar cramping in her belly as her body reacted involuntarily. She never ate so she could not vomit, but still it happened every time. Her body knew what her mind could not remember, how wrong this was.

Jannyta jerked awake, her body soaked in sweat, tears pouring down her face. Her stomach cramped and she flung herself off the bed, out of the barrack room and into the privy just in time. She emerged sometime later feeling as though she'd been put through a wringer. She scarcely had the strength to stand, never mind walk.

"The memories are hardest to deal with."

Jannyta looked up, peering through the darkness. The worgen Nerissina sat on a bench nearby, a bottle of wine and a mug in her hands.

"Sometimes when I can't sleep I sit out here and think."

She poured wine into the mug and handed it to the gnome. Jannyta sipped a little and spat out the bitter taste from her mouth, then she sat on the grass near Nerissina and drank slowly, gradually feeling her stomach settle.

"We all have many bad memories I think," the worgen continued. "Maybe they'll never go away. I don't know. All we can do is keep telling ourselves that we had no control over what we did as Scourge. If anyone is to blame it is those who made us what we are."


	10. A Rogue's Tale chapter 1

A Rogue's Tale

Jothan

I stood, head bowed, in front of Mathias Shaw. I'd been caught sneaking into SI7's headquarters yet again; and this time they'd dragged me before the master himself.

"Look at me, boy!"

His voice was quiet, not sounding angry.

Slowly I raised my head and looked at him. He had an amused expression on his face.

"You really want to join us, don't you?"

I nodded. He gazed at me in silence for some moments.

"Right, here's my offer. I will allow you to train here with our recruits. You'll learn everything they do, including the use of poisons and the full range of weapons."

I opened my mouth to thank him, but he continued before I could say a word.

"However, there are conditions. First, you continue your studies at school and keep up with your chores. Second, you will not use anything you learn here outside the compound until I give you permission. Third, you must get your parents' permission."

My heart sank at that last condition; my father was not going to give his permission easily; he'd probably have more conditions than Master Shaw. However I nodded willingly and thanked him.

"Very well. Return here tomorrow with your father's written permission and you may begin training."

I turned to leave and had almost reached the door when he said quietly,

"Before you leave you can return that trinket you stole."

I glanced down at my closed fist and opened it to reveal the coin I held. I didn't think he'd noticed; I should have known better than to try to fool the master thief himself.

"You're good, lad, I'll grant you that; but you need to be much better to deceive a rogue. I take it you're responsible for a lot of the misplaced things that turned up later in unexpected places?"

I nodded. "I never kept anything," I said. "I was just practicing."

"I know. We wouldn't be having this conversation if you had."

I reached out to put the trinket on a nearby table before I left.

To my surprise my father agreed to let me train with the rogues. I think that he was just pleased that I'd finally given some thought to my future. Though more than once I'd heard him voice the opinion that rogues were little better than thieves; the only difference being that they were sanctioned by the crown.

His only comment was,

"If you're so determined to be a thief, better to be one employed by the state. Maybe then you'll avoid getting yourself hanged."

And so I arrived at the SI7 headquarters the next day ready to begin my training. I was twelve, three years short of my majority. Every spare moment of my time was spent with SI7. I had no social life, but I never felt the lack, I was doing what I wanted. In those three years I learned all they could teach me; I honed my skills, determined to be the best I could be; and the day I came of age I became a fully-fledged member of SI7.

At first I was sent on easy missions as part of a team, both to allow me to grow in confidence and to let my superiors assess how I handled myself. Then as I became more skilled the missions became more complicated and I worked more often than not alone. Over the next few years I must have travelled much of the Eastern Kingdoms, learning of places I'd scarcely known existed. I was seldom at home, and though I missed my family I didn't complain. I was doing what I'd chosen and I was good at it. I enjoyed pitting my wits against the enemy, whoever they were, took pride in each success, in my service to my people, in each new morsel of information I uncovered. The one thing I took no pleasure in was killing. If I had to do so I would, always aiming for a quick, clean and painless end for my target, but my first choice was always to complete my mission without any unnecessary deaths.

Not for me the life of a farmer as my father was. I had found my calling, and I was content.

Then, it seemed, for a while, my life fell apart. Word had come to Stormwind that a new race of beings had come through the Dark Portal along with reinforcements for the orcs. Mathias asked me to go and investigate, to find out if they were a serious threat to us.

I set off on horseback, well supplied with provisions, for there was no settlement closer than the town of Darkshire in Duskwood where I could get more. My route took me southwards, through Duskwood, into Deadwind Pass, staying well to the north of the Tower of Karazhan. I didn't want to attract the attention of the Guardian Medivh. From there I went eastwards into the Black Morass, the most unpleasant part of the journey. My horse struggled to make his way through the thick mud and tangled undergrowth and we were both exhausted by the time we reached the southern border. I camped there overnight, waking early, well-rested and ready to go on.

After a leisurely breakfast I set off. I didn't hurry; instead I allowed my horse to amble along as I scanned the ground for herbs. Alongside my rogue training I'd learned the skills of herbalism and skinning. They provided a legitimate reason for me to be in any area, with the added bonus of any profit I made from selling whatever I gathered.

As I left the pass through the mountains that bordered the Black Morass I could see how barren the land had become. I didn't hold out much hope of finding many herbs here, but maybe there would be a few wild creatures to provide me with skins. No matter, it was the pretence, the appearance that was important.

I followed the road, constantly alert, but maintaining an appearance of casual indifference. As it veered eastwards I could see on the high ground the almost complete walls of the new fort that had been built here to help protect our world against further incursions by the orcs. I turned my horse to head up the road towards it. In these uncertain days with the ever-present threat of war it made sense for any traveler to make themselves known to the local authority. Besides, I was curious and it would help my cover story and possibly gain me some knowledge.

At the gate the sentry greeted me cheerfully.

"Welcome to Nethergarde Keep," he said before waving me through.

I rode into the keep, looking around me curiously. The walls were more or less complete, the buildings inside less so. To one side of the gate was the flight point, a simple wooden tower that enabled the gryphons to more easily take off over the wall, surrounded by a handful of nests for them to rest in. Bypassing the barracks and inn I headed to the stable to see my horse taken care of; he still bore a coating of mud from the Morass and he needed to be cleaned up. There were a handful of men, probably off duty soldiers or workmen gathered nearby chatting with the stablemaster and drinking mugs of beer. They ignored me as I approached.

Dismounting, I unburdened the horse of my bags and the saddle; then found a bucket of water and began to wash him down. As I did so I unashamedly eavesdropped on the conversation. They were talking about ogres, the creatures I'd come here to learn about. I quickly decided to stay at Nethergarde for a day or two to see what else I could learn here. Nothing beat firsthand knowledge and observation, but it was always better to be prepared. I learned a lot as I went about grooming my horse in a leisurely fashion.

Eventually though I became aware that I was attracting some curious glances. I didn't want to outstay my welcome; time to leave, I decided as I finished my task.

I turned to the stablemaster and asked him if I might buy some feed for my horse. He agreed and measured it out into a bucket for me. I counted out the gold he asked for, more than it was worth, but if they thought I was a little ignorant so much the better. More could be learned that way than by appearing too clever.

Gathering up my belongings I asked,

"Is there anywhere I can get a meal and a bed for the night?"

"The inn doesn't have any rooms, but I daresay there'll be a spare bunk in the barracks," one of the older men said.

I thanked him and began to walk away in the direction he indicated.

"Pretty boy like that won't need a bunk of his own," someone commented, to be swiftly hushed by the first. I ignored it, though inwardly I hoped that wouldn't prove to be the case. The last thing I needed was the complication of dealing with lecherous soldiers.

I walked into the barracks and was immediately and uncomfortably aware of becoming the centre of attention.

"You seem a little lost, lad," one grizzled old warrior commented.

"I was told I might get a bunk here."

He considered for a moment."Aye. I think there's one free in the men's bunk room; unless of course you'd prefer to share with the ladies."

To my annoyance I flushed with embarrassment and they laughed.

"That's enough. Stop teasing the man."

The voice that gave the order was authoritative and female. I turned to face the woman who stood silhouetted in the doorway. She was small and slender, I could tell that even with the plate armour she wore, but, dazzled by the sun behind her, I couldn't see her face clearly.

"My patrol leaves in 15 minutes," she said. "If you're not ready, you'll get extra duty as builder's labourers."

She turned and strode away leaving a sudden flurry of action behind her as several soldiers hurried to get themselves organised. After they'd gone I was pretty much ignored. I found the bunk the old warrior had mentioned and left my bags on it, then I returned to the common room, found a seat in the corner and took out my journal. For some moments I wrote innocuous garbage that anyone could read without learning anything important. Then I began to record what I'd learned so far. I filled the margins of the pages with seemingly innocent doodles that were in fact an SI7 code only another agent would be able to read.

"What's that you're writing?" the old warrior asked, determined, it seemed, to be friendly, or maybe he was just lonely. He seemed out of place among all the younger men and women.

"Just writing what I've done and seen so I can remember to tell my ma when I go home to Stormwind," I said playing up on the dim-witted persona I'd chosen to project. After I'd given a few more pointless replies to his questions he finally gave up trying to learn more about me. Instead he asked what I was doing in such a Light forsaken place.

"I was told I could get some good skins here," I replied. "Is that right?"

"Well I guess the basilisks give decent skins but they're not easy to catch. Then there's the ogres; you need to keep away from them."

"Ogres… what are they? Not heard of them."

More than one person laughed; fully convinced I was an imbecile.

"You've heard of orcs, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, ogres are like orcs, only bigger, uglier, and a whole lot more dangerous."

"I'll be sure to stay away from them," I assured him.

Standing, I stowed away my journal and wandered out into the sunlight. I was hungry and I figured I'd check out the inn and see what I could learn there. Behind me I heard more than one disparaging remark about me. The general consensus seemed to be that I was too stupid to survive out here.

I stayed at Nethergarde for a few days before deciding I'd learned all I was going to. Freshly supplied, I rode out from the keep deliberately heading away from where I'd been told the ogres were. For the first day or two I hunted a few basilisks and skinned them to back up my cover story. I should have taken the time to clean the skins and at least start the curing process. In the heat they pretty soon got smelly and attracted flies. My horse wasn't too impressed either and not happy about having to carry them.

It didn't take me long to find the ogres' encampment, a random collection of awnings enclosed by cave-pocked hills. They and their fires smelled even worse than my skins. Leaving my horse at a safe distance and hidden from their view I crept close to the camp and began to observe them, making mental notes that I'd later add to my journal. I'd observe them for a few days to be sure that their behavior was consistent before writing and dispatching my report. It all went well until the last morning. I'd packed up my camp ready for a final day of observing and was riding to the place I usually left my horse when an ogre wandered out from a hidden cleft in the rocks. They didn't usually normally come this far from their camp, and neither of us expected to see the other. I don't know who was more startled; he however was faster to react. With a roar he ran at me brandishing a huge club. My horse, already skittish from the constant smell of the skins, panicked, reared up and threw me. I hit the ground hard and lay there winded for a moment, watching my horse disappear in the distance. The sound of the ogre's heavy footsteps drew my attention back to my situation and I sprang to my feet, drawing my knives to defend myself. It was a foolish mistake thinking I could take on the creature single-handed; with the reach his massive weapon gave him I couldn't get close enough to make a single hit on him. I'd seen how fast these ogres could move; there was no way I could outrun the creature, but I had no choice but to try. Sheathing my knives I started to run, not realizing I'd got turned about. Instead of heading for safety I ran straight into a group of ogres. For an endless moment we stared at each other. My breath caught in my throat as I felt panic begin to rise. I had absolutely no idea how to get out of this.

"Mine!" I heard the ogre behind me yell before a blow to my head knocked me unconscious.

I woke up in the darkness of what I assumed was the ogres' cave. I soon realized I wouldn't be going anywhere. I'd been secured by a chain locked around my ankle. Normally I could have picked the lock easily, but my tools were in a hidden pocket in my leathers, and while I was unconscious they'd stripped me of all bar my underwear. I wondered about that at first, but eventually realised that to the ogres who wore nothing but a loincloth my clothes must have seemed un-necessary. It quickly became obvious that the ogre who'd captured me regarded me as little more than a plaything. When the mood took him he'd allow me close to his fire and feed me morsels of food that I ate despite not knowing what they were. Sometimes they were so vile I couldn't help throwing up, but I forced myself to eat what I could to keep my strength up. But when he was annoyed with me, more often than not, he'd leave me hungry and thirsty and cuff me away from the warmth.

I had no way of knowing how long I'd been there. There was no difference between day and night in the depths of the cave, and from what I could tell very little variation in their activity. I quickly became weak and succumbed to the cold and damp, developing a fever that mercifully left me largely oblivious to the abuse dealt to me. At one point he hit me so hard for some imagined fault that he knocked me clear across the cave, slamming my spine against an outcrop of rock and leaving my lower body numb. Aware I couldn't take more of that punishment I stayed where I fell and ignored all his attempts to coax me to him. At first I could feel blood running from the open wound, then infection from the filth under me took hold. I couldn't see it obviously, but even through the stench of the cave I could smell its sickly sweetness. And as the swelling increased so did my feeling diminish until I could no longer feel anything below the injury. I made no attempt to move, I wasn't even sure I could. I was past caring about anything by now. I wanted only for it to end.

I believe I was close to death when rescue finally came. I was aware only of the sounds of fighting and human voices, of a clouded vision of bright paladin armour, then intense cold and the nauseating sensation of a teleport. Then the soothing oblivion that I believed was a precursor to death.

Hestia

We were just returning from a patrol when we spotted a rider-less horse wandering near the lower reaches of the road leading up to the keep. He was clearly spooked and it took us a while to catch him.

"Looks like that rogue's horse," one of the soldiers commented. "Figured sooner or later he'd get into trouble. Lad didn't seem all that bright. We warned him about the ogres but he didn't seem to think they'd be a problem. Said he was just after skinning the beasts round here."

I thought quickly. If the rogue had been wandering too close to the ogres' encampment he could be in trouble. I turned to the soldier holding the horse's reins, trying to calm the nervous beast.

"Take the horse back to the keep, report to the commander and tell him I'm going to look for the rogue. Then come back here with a mage. We may need their help."

"Yes, Sir" the man saluted, re-mounted and set off up the road.

At my order the rest of the patrol dismounted to rest their own horses, some setting a watch, the others relaxing in a group. I stood apart, gazing out across the land, trying to decide the best course of action. If the rogue was after skins he'd have gone further south where there was a greater concentration of wildlife. There was also a series of caves occupied by ogres. By and large we avoided them so long as they kept away from the keep, but that seemed the most likely place to search.

About an hour after I'd sent him my messenger returned from Nethergarde with a very miserable looking mage in tow.

"What's up with him?" I asked the soldier escorting him.

"He didn't want to come with me. Said it wasn't in his job description."

"We'll see," I commented.

Without further delay we set off riding south. It was late, the sky darkening as the sun began to set; but that could work in our favour. By the time we arrived at the caves of Bloodmaul Post our eyes would be accustomed to the darkness and we'd be more able to get close before the ogres, dazzled by firelight, noticed us. That was the theory anyway.

We left our horses some distance from the caves so they wouldn't make a noise and betray our presence. It was bad enough that we were all, except the mage and our scout, wearing full plate armour; not the best for stealth.

Fortunately the ogres had mostly gone into the caves by now so we should be able to deal with them one at a time. The largest cave would be most likely where they'd keep a prisoner, I reasoned, so we made for that first, swiftly dealing with the sentries. Cautiously we made our way into the tunnels, killing any ogres we came across, searching for any clue to the whereabouts of the missing rogue.

Eventually our scout reported that he'd found him in one of the deepest caves but unfortunately not alone. He was being guarded by a massive ogre. I knew that the longer we remained in the cave system, the greater the risk of the alarm being raised. We couldn't delay. I had the scout gather all the men together then lead the way.

"The boy is chained up. I should be able to pick the lock," the scout told me, "but you'll have to get the ogre away from him."

I nodded; then quietly gave my orders before stepping into sight. The ogre was truly massive; it was crouched down beside the motionless rogue, poking at him and muttering in its guttural language.

"Take your filthy hands off him, beast!" I ordered. It looked up, saw me and lurched to its feet.

"New toy!" A leer lit up its ugly face as it reached for me. I swung my sword at it, catching it off-guard and cutting a deep gash in its arm before springing back out of reach. It hardly seemed to feel the wound it as it reached for a massive club and began its attack only to hesitate as the rest of my patrol moved into view. The dismay on its face would have been amusing if not for the situation. It was no coward though as it took on my men.

With the scout I slipped past the fray to the rogue's side. While Fredric busied himself with the lock on the chain tethered to his leg I examined him for any serious injury. His captor's comment suggested that they regarded prisoners as mere playthings and had no regard for them, and it was clear from his condition the ogres had treated him carelessly. He'd been stripped of his gear and left in only thin cotton underwear that was ragged and did nothing to protect him from the damp and cold of the cave. There wasn't an inch of his skin unmarked by livid bruises or unstained with blood. And the smell from being left to lay in his own filth was appalling. I pulled off my gauntlet and touched his shoulder gently; despite the chill he was burning with fever. His eyes flickered open and gazed, unfocussed, at me.

"Please, no more," he begged hoarsely. "Just let me die."

"We're here to rescue you," I said quietly. "Can you stand, do you think?"

"No. Can't move, can't feel anything. He broke me…"

I hadn't been able to examine his back without moving him, now I was glad I hadn't tried. What he'd said suggested an injury to his spine that could be exacerbated by movement. I glanced round, aware that the sounds of battle had diminished as the ogre had been drawn out of the cave into the passageway. I spotted the mage cowering in a corner, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Get over here!" I ordered him. He obeyed reluctantly, constantly glancing back at the combat behind him.

Fredric, having finished dealing with the lock was rummaging in a chest at the back of the cave. He muttered a disparaging comment aimed at the mage before turning back to us. In his hands he held a bundle of clothing and a pair of mismatched knives.

"I guess these are his," he said nodding at the rogue.

"Give me something to cover him," I asked and he tossed a grubby length of cloth to me. I was about to remonstrate before realizing that it was less dirty than the man himself. No point in ruining his decent and possibly only gear for the sake of a few minutes.

"You, mage, Tairel? I want his spine immobilized to avoid any more damage; then I want a portal directly to the infirmary. The less he's moved the better. And a portal for the men, to the barracks."

Tairel began to cast, weaving a casing of ice round the rogue's torso that would keep him immobile while we transported him.

"Call your men back. I can't hold it open for long," he said. I raised my voice to issue the order as he began to cast. The patrol came back, some of them injured and blood stained but all thankfully alive.

"The ogre's dead, sir," one of them said. "But it won't be long before the others get up the courage to attack."

"Right, we're getting out of here. You two help us with the rogue. The rest of you, through the portal."

They didn't need telling twice. I watched them hurry through, all bar the two I'd chosen.

"Wait, let me handle this."

I looked at the mage.

"No need to move him. I can teleport him without doing so."

I took him at his word and gestured the last of my men through as the portal faded. Only the scout and I were left with them.

"Stay close together. I need my hands free to cast, but it will be easier if you're linked together."

We obeyed, both Fredric and I grasping one of the rogue's hands, and I reached up to rest my hand against Tairel's arm as he began to cast. I experienced a moment of gut-wrenching disorientation as the cave faded from sight to be replaced by the familiar stone walls of the keep, the smooth flagstones of its floors beneath my knees. Beside me I felt Tairel stumble, grabbing my shoulder for support. Releasing the rogue's hand I stood and helped the mage to a nearby seat. He was shaking, his face deathly pale.

"Give him a mana potion, the blue bottles on the shelf beside you. He's drained himself too far."

I didn't look round or question who was giving the order; I knew well enough the disorienting effects of mana-deprivation, though I'd never suffered it to that degree.

I pulled off my gauntlets and reached for a bottle; then unscrewed the cap and handed it to Tairel. He drained it thirstily; then leant forward, arms resting on his knees, his head bowed.

"You hadn't done that before, had you?"

He looked up at me and shook his head.

"Not with so many at once."

"You did well."

Gently I rested my hand on his shoulder, letting the Light flow from me to strengthen him.

"Thank you," he said softly.

I turned my attention to the other occupants of the room. The rogue still lay on the floor, motionless, apparently unconscious; the doctor crouched beside him trying to examine him round the casing of ice that showed no sign of melting despite the warmth of the room.

"Help me lift him onto the bed," he said to Fredric.

The scout, still crouched at the rogue's side, put a restraining hand on the doctor's arm; then nodded toward me.

"Wait," I said. "He may have spinal damage. He said he couldn't feel anything."

"This is beyond my skill," the doctor admitted. "I'm more used to dealing with battle injuries."

I walked back across the room and he moved out of my way so that I could once more kneel at the rogue's side. I lay my hand on the ice over his chest letting the Light channel through me so I could sense any damage. I could feel his heartbeat, his breathing, but tell very little about the damage to his spine.

"Tairel?" I glanced round at the mage.

"Will this ice hold if we turn him over?"

He nodded. "It will hold until I remove it."

Gently Fredric and I turned the rogue onto his front. Tairel thinned the ice over his spine and I ran my fingers lightly down it from neck to buttocks; and here I stopped. Whereas the rest had been undamaged, here the flesh was raw and swollen. Had this been what he meant when he said he was broken. He'd obvious been hit against something rough and sharp to do this amount of damage, hard enough to crack the bone. Still I couldn't sense any break in the nerves that ran through his spine; maybe it was simply that the swelling was pressing against them. I hoped that was the case and that he'd regain feeling and the use of his legs as the swelling went down.

When I was done the doctor summoned an orderly and the four men gently lifted the rogue and lay him face down on a bed well covered with protective cloths.

Once the doctor was content that the rogue was safely settled he turned to Tairel and said,

"Now you can defrost the boy before he freezes to death."

The mage did as he was bid, then made a hasty retreat to the far side of the room. He looked as nauseated as I and probably the others felt.

"I'll need some help," the doctor commented and I volunteered to stay. Fredric helped me out of my armour then he went off to do my bidding, to see if he could find if the rogue had any family who should be informed of his condition. The scout mentioned that he'd heard the rogue talk about a mother in Stormwind; maybe he could find an address in his belongings.

"Best thing for the boy would be to send him back to Stormwind," the doctor said as we began to clean the rogue.

"They're better equipped to care for him."

"If the journey didn't kill him," I muttered.

"What?... Oh! Yes I see what you mean. But couldn't the mage teleport him?"

For a long moment I just stared at him in disbelief.

"You saw what Tairel was like after teleporting us a couple of miles; now you want him to do the same across the whole of Azeroth."

The doctor had the grace to look embarrassed at his mistake.

"Actually, I could do it." We both looked round at the mage.

"It's not the distance that's the problem; it's how many people. If I were to send him with one person as escort, it wouldn't be that hard."

"Thank you, Tairel; I'll bear that in mind."

Less than a week later I was teleported along with the rogue to Stormwind Cathedral where our best healers could be found. I carried his belongings and a single bag for myself, having been told by the commander to stay as long as I was needed. Tairel would bring our horses and the rest of my belongings in a day or two.

Jothan

I woke to a warmth and softness that baffled me; darkness, silence, the absence of pain. I couldn't move; couldn't even feel much of my body. I lay there, trying to make sense of my fragmented memories, to decide what was truth and what the product of my fevered nightmares?

The last thing I remembered was a battle, a boyish voice and intense cold; then oblivion. The clearest memories were of what had happened in the ogres' cave; memories I wished desperately I could forget; yet knew I would not. I'd been trained to have perfect recall.

How long had I been here? For that matter; where was here? Not Nethergarde, that was certain; it was too quiet.

Eventually I fell asleep and woke to the pale glow of dawn through a high window. From the little I could see I seemed to be in a small room on my own. I was not left alone for long; the door opened and I heard quiet footsteps approach the bed. I turned my head as far as I could to look at the newcomer, a young man in the white garments of a hospital orderly.

"Good to see you're awake at last," he said.

"Do you feel up to a visitor?"

"Yes," I whispered hoarsely.

"Ok, I'll send him in and see about some breakfast for you."

He was gone before I could ask anything. Moments later a familiar face appeared in his place.

"Hello, lad," Aralen greeted me with a smile. "Mathias asked me to come see how you are, once we found out where you were."

"Thank you, but where am I?"

"Did they nae tell ye? You're in Stormwind, in the Cathedral. They had a mage fetch you back here."

"Why can't I move?"

"You damaged your spine. They didn't want you to make it worse, so they kept you sedated and immobilised while the bone healed."

"How long have I been here?"

"Two weeks. The Light can only do so much to speed up healing in an injury that bad; it still takes time."

"I need to report to Mathias. But I've lost my journal. It was in the bags on my horse. The stupid creature threw me and ran off when the ogre attacked me."

"Don't fret about that, lad. Your horse was found. It's how Captain Yates knew to rescue you. All your gear is here."

"Will you take it to him?"

"Of course; but first you can tell me about what happened."

I knew the dwarf well, knew he wouldn't take no for an answer. And sure enough he persuaded me to tell him everything; including the cruel treatment I'd suffered at the hands of that sadistic ogre. Aralen kept trying to persuade me that what happened wasn't my fault, but I couldn't help wondering if I could have done things differently and spared myself the ordeal.

Eventually the orderly returned with food for me, and Aralen departed with my journal for Mathias. It was then I learned how truly dependent I was. Unable to move without assistance I could do nothing for myself; I was as helpless as a newborn baby.

Hestia

"Go easy on him, lass," the dwarf said softly.

"The boy feels shamed at what those ogres did to him; and blames himself for what happened. He fought bravely, but even the most skilled warrior would have struggled to hold his own against so many. Then to be so brutally treated as their prisoner… In time he will heal I believe but meanwhile he needs to be handled gently, compassionately."

I nodded; I'd sensed his torment when we'd brought him out of the cave, his utter hopelessness at being unable to do anything for himself.

"I'll tread carefully," I promised, "But if he's ever to walk again he needs the healing of the Light."

For a moment Aralen reached up to rest his hand on my shoulder; then he turned and walked away. I watched him leave, my heart sinking. What had I agreed to take on? I knew that given time my healing would deal with the physical damage to the rogue; but I was less sure of my ability to deal with his psychological needs. Maybe a priest would have been a better choice as healer, but apparently he'd asked for me. It had been a week or so since he'd woken from his induced coma, and in that time he'd driven away every healer who tried to help him. Then Patriss, the young priest who dealt with his day to day care, had mentioned that I was a healer.

His face was turned away when I entered the room.

"Go away, you damn dwarf," he muttered. "I don't want to talk anymore."

"I'm not the dwarf," I said quietly, "You asked for me, so here I am. Jothan, isn't it? I'm Hestia."

For some moments he was silent, ignoring me, but I was nothing if not stubborn, so I stood there waiting for him to acknowledge me. Eventually he realised I wasn't going away and turned his head to look at me. His bewilderment was clear, he didn't recognise me.

"I asked for the paladin who rescued me, not a girl."

"That was me. I realise I look different without the armour and sword, but I'm still the same person."

He muttered an expletive under his breath.

"I thought…"

"That I was a man. Yes it happens a lot. Sorry to disappoint you."

"No matter. I dare say you can heal as well as anyone."

Talk about damning with faint praise. If he thought he'd drive me away with his attitude he was mistaken; as I said I'm stubborn, my most redeeming fault.

I stepped forward.

"Will you allow me to examine you?"

He flushed in embarrassment; he wasn't to know of my involvement so far. From first sight of his battered blood-stained and very naked body in the cave, to helping care for him throughout the course of the fever that had brought him close to death, bathing him, dealing with bodily functions, assisting with healing, I knew pretty much all there was to know about him, I'd just never been with him while he was conscious before. My request was a mere courtesy now that he was aware of me. After a moment's hesitation he assented.

I helped him turn onto his front so I could examine his spine. The open wound had closed now and was healing well. I knew now that there was no damage to the nerves of his spine, but there was still a lot of swelling. Gently I held my hand over the scarred skin, channeling the healing Light. I'd been doing this every day since I'd brought him here; but it was a slow process. There were times I wondered if I was having any effect, but I couldn't give up.

Jothan lifted his head from where it had been cradled on his arms, and looked at me.

"I can't feel if you're doing anything," he commented. "Is it working?"

"Slowly. You suffered massive damage, Jothan, both internal and external. The healing is putting a great deal of stress on us both. I can't speed it up anymore than I'm doing now. I'm sorry but you need to be patient."

"Guess I don't have much choice."

"Not a lot," I agreed.

He lay his head down again and said no more, but I could sense his disappointment. I could understand it; from what Aralen had said Jothan was naturally an active person, and to be unable to move must have been so frustrating for him. I know I'd hate it.

After a few moments his eyes closed and he slept. Healing had that effect; it was draining on both patient and healer. I however didn't have the chance to rest; there were other patients needing my attention.

Jothan

It wasn't until several days later that Aralen returned with Mathias' thanks for my report. By then I was bored out of my mind and eager to hear the latest news. I wasn't accustomed to being idle. Being alone I could handle; I spent most of my time by myself. But that was by choice and easily changed if I felt like some company. This was different; no one had the time to stay and talk.

The young paladin Hestia Yates came every morning to work her healing on me, but she seldom had time to stop and talk. And honestly we had little in common other than my rescue; and I wasn't that keen on discussing that.

My life fell into a routine of sorts, a mix of brief periods of activity and a lot of boredom. Every morning the orderly Patriss would appear to bathe me and tend to my personal needs. I hated this feeling of helplessness but at least Patriss lightened it with his humour. For a priest he knew a surprisingly endless amount of dirty jokes which he would share with me, as well as telling me the latest news. It helped to distract me from what he was doing and soon we became close friends.

After I'd eaten breakfast he'd leave me to rest until Hestia arrived for my daily healing session. That usually left me exhausted and I'd sleep the day away until Patriss arrived with my evening meal. Then I would sleep again.

The days blurred one into another until I had no idea how long I'd lain in that bare, lonely room. I'd given up on my journal after two or three days with nothing of interest to write in it. Nothing seemed to change. For all the healing I received I saw no improvement in my condition. I still could not move unaided, could feel nothing in my lower body. The wound, cleansed of the infection, was healing, Hestia told me, and gradually the swelling was going down. Sooner or later I should regain my feeling and movement; I just had to be patient. I had to take her word for it; I had no way to tell. But patience wasn't one of my virtues. Sure, I could sit for hours, unmoving, spying out an enemy target, waiting until the time was right to steal or kill. But I always knew there was an end in sight and I could move on to the next job. This was different; I saw no ending, no change, no hope for something new to distract me.

Then one morning Patriss didn't appear. I didn't know why; an emergency maybe. I'd heard a disturbance in the night. I had no choice but to lie there and wait; an uncomfortably long wait. I was hungry, sore from lying in one position for so long, and desperately in need of a piss. With nothing better to do I turned my face to the window and watched the sun creep slowly along the sill. It must have been well after noon when I finally heard the door open and soft footsteps approach.

"I'm sorry I've kept you waiting so long," Hestia said.

"We had several casualties from a skirmish brought in last night. Now, are you ready?"

Oh Light! No way was I ready, but I couldn't tell her why, so I just nodded and hoped I wouldn't embarrass myself. She helped me to turn on my side so she could get to my wound and gently laid her hands over it. For so long I'd felt nothing there that I was totally unprepared for what happened. The gentle warmth that normally radiated from Hestia's hands became a searing heat that burned through my body. My cry of pain caught in my throat as my body convulsed and my bladder released, soaking the bedding under me.

"Jothan?"

Startled by my reaction, she pulled her hands away.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

I couldn't answer, couldn't think straight, as I tried to ride out the pain. She touched me on the shoulder and I flinched, unable to bear any contact at that moment. She removed her hand and I heard her move away.

I had no idea of the passage of time, it could have been minutes or even hours, before I heard Aralen's familiar voice. He sounded worried.

"Jothan, lad, are you all right?"

With an effort I opened my eyes and looked at him.

"I – I pissed myself," I whispered hoarsely. It was all I could understand just then.

At that he grinned.

"Dinna worry, lad. We'll get that sorted."

He rested a hand gently on my arm, his touch cool, soothing away my pain.

"Hestia said her healing was hurting you."

"It felt like ... like I was burning from the inside out," I muttered, struggling to get my head round the words I wanted. "What the hell went wrong?"

"I don't know, lad. Patriss is supposed to increase your pain tolerance, to numb your nerves so Hestia can be more aggressive with her healing. The lad is good at his job; I've never known him fail before."

"He didn't come today," I whispered. "Something happened."

Aralen looked past me to someone by the door.

"He was helping us with the casualties from the skirmish, but I thought he'd already been to Jothan."

Hestia walked forward and I sensed her stop just behind me.

"I'm so sorry, Jothan," she said softly. "If I'd known… but you said you were ready for me."

"I didn't know what Patriss did," I ground out. I couldn't keep the anger from my voice.

"Nobody told me anything. Don't you think I had a right to know what you were doing to me?"

"Aye, lad, you're right. We should have made sure you knew."

"It won't happen again, Jothan, I promise," Hestia said.

Again she laid her hands on me to channel the healing, and this time it was a gentle warmth that suffused my body, soothing away my pain. I began to doze and was vaguely aware of Aralen saying,

"I'll see you later after you've rested, lad."


	11. Forged in Felfire

Caranith stood in silence looking around him. Everywhere was utter devastation. After days of ceaseless battle they'd driven the Burning Legion from the summit of Mount Hyjal and killed one of its leaders, the eredar demon Archimonde. But at what cost?

There wasn't a building left whole, a tree left unscorched, a family left untouched. Those who were left had gathered together to bid a last farewell to their fallen kin. The demons had spared no one in their attack; the bodies, laid out in neat rows ranged from those who'd been old enough to remember the first time the Legion had invaded Azeroth to small children scarcely beginning their lives.

Caranith gazed at each in turn, committing their faces to memory, until at last his gaze fell on the nearest and smallest. His son, born only days ago; they hadn't even chosen a name for him yet. He'd been killed in his mother's arms as she tried to escape with him.

The priestess leading the ceremony offered up a prayer to Elune, asking the goddess's protection for all these lost souls; then she began to name each in turn, pausing when she came to the nameless infant. She looked at Caranith.

"Your son should go to Elune with a name," she said softly.

He was silent for long moments.

"I can't..." he choked.

"Kaelion, he is Kaelion. A hero's name for the hero he could have become."

Alyssera's voice was strong and clear, yet full of the grief only a bereft mother could know. Caranith nodded, his wife's choice was a good one. Kaelion had been a hero of the first war against the Legion, Alyssera's ancestor.

"Kaelion Stormfury," the priestess repeated.

"We commit all these, our loved ones, to the eternal care of Elune."

She stepped back and nodded to the druids gathered nearby. As one they began to cast, calling forth roots and tendrils from the earth that entwined about the bodies and drawing them down into the ground. Caranith added his own magic, concentrating on his son. It was the last act he would perform as a druid.

When it was done the survivors began to drift away. Caranith knelt for a moment and laid a hand gently on the soil that covered the child's body.

"Farewell, my son," he whispered. "Rest assured that I will avenge you."

He rose and walked to Alyssera who looked up at him with tear filled eyes. He wrapped his arms round her, careful of her bandaged arms where they'd been cut as she tried to shield their child. Gently he led her away to what remained of their home.

In the dark of the night as he held his wife close Caranith made the choice that would change his life forever. As dawn began to lighten the sky he arose and packed his few remaining belongings in a bag.

"What are you doing, Caranith?" Alyssera asked as she watched him.

"I'm going to Outland," he replied. "I'm going to join Illidan's army and take the fight to the Legion. Our fallen must be avenged."

"Don't do this," she begged. "I can't lose you too."

Yet as she watched him she knew she had already lost him. He was no longer the gentle caring man she had fallen in love with. The Burning Legion had broken him and remade him as a man set single-mindedly on revenge.


	12. Simply Abominable

Simply Abominable – A Winterveil Story

Orgrimmar seemed busy as Keristo emerged from the cleft of shadows. People of every race in the Horde were scurrying about intent on their business. There was nothing odd about that, the city was usually a hive of industry whether legal or illicit.

The strange thing was how many of them were dressed. Male and female alike they wore bright red or green jackets trimmed with white fur with matching droopy conical hats that had a ball of fur on the point and a band of fur round the head.

Keristo stood and stared. It was a typically sweltering hot Durotar day. Those outfits must have been boiling hot. Many of the females had the better sense, what they wore could scarcely be called a jacket , being barely enough to leave them decent.

He began to walk up the Drag towards the Valley of Strength, wanting only to settle into his favourite inn, the Broken Tusk, and sample some of Grishka's finest wine. As he made his way through the crowds he looked around curiously at the decorations that had also appeared, wreaths of greenery with red berries, strings of bright twinkling lights, and tall conical trees laden with more lights and bright baubles of every hue imaginable.

Had everyone gone mad? Normally everyone ignored each other unless they had mutual business; now they were calling out cheerful greetings to everybody they passed. A female troll wearing the strange outfit in a shade of green that clashed horribly with her skin, bumped into him, almost dropping all her parcels.

"Sorry, man. Ah didn't see ya there," she apologised.

"Happy Winterveil to ya!"

Then she was gone before he could ask for an explanation.

He continued on his way down into the valley. It was even worse there. Some goblins had set up a stall between the auction house and the inn and they were surrounded by people jostling to buy their goods. Keristo pushed through the crowd, then stopped dead as something else caught his eye.

On the normally bare area in front of the Warchief's Command Board was the most enormous tree yet. It was gaudily decorated and all round it were piled hundreds if not thousands or brightly wrapped parcels. They were unguarded yet no one made any attempt to touch them. Sitting nearby was an orc dressed in the most elaborate version of the strange costume. Cheerfully he chatted with anyone who approached him accepting their offerings of milk and cookies.

The crowd around Keristo began to drift away leaving him able to see what the goblins were offering for sale, toy, trinkets, food, and scrolls.

"Hey! You with the horns, you looking for a job?" the nearest one, a male, said cheerfully.

"Not particularly," Keristo replied wearily. He was really looking forward to a hot meal, wine and a soft bed.

Ignoring his reply the goblin continued.

"There's a mean old monster who keeps stealing all the gifts. We need volunteers to go get them back and teach him a lesson."

"A monster?"

"Yeah. A huge yeti. They call him the Greench. His helpers sneak into the cities and steal everything for him. There'll be no presents for the children if we don't get them back."

Keristo sighed. He got the feeling he wouldn't be left in peace until he helped out.

"Okay, tell me the details."

"He's got a cave in Hillsbrad where he keeps everything. Just chase him off and bring back what you can."

"So, not a demon then? You do realise I'm a demon hunter, not a monster hunter?"

"Close enough."

The goblin handed him a paper with instructions written on it. Keristo wandered away, reading it, wondering how he'd managed to get conned into this. He obviously wasn't the only one the wily goblin had signed up judging by the amount of people waiting to catch the zeppelin to Tirisfal Glades. Once on board he found a relatively quiet corner and curled up to sleep for the journey.

Once they arrived he mounted his armoured bloodwing and set off in company with all the other adventurers. It was about an hour's flight over Undercity and the ruins of Alterac to reach Growless Cave, the Greench's hideaway. Judging by the equally large group of Alliance waiting there the Greench and its horrible little helpers had been stealing their presents too.

Neither side made any attempt to attack the other. Their sole aim was to mete out justice and retrieve their stolen property.

It wasn't long before the Greench emerged to face the combined army of Horde and Alliance. The creature was massive, the hugest yeti anyone had ever seen. Keristo felt his inner demon react to it. There was clearly something faintly demonic about the beast. It took some doing but eventually they brought it down without anyone dying on either side though there were the inevitable injuries.

Leaving the huge corpse where it fell, a handful of warriors investigated the cave. It was stuffed full of presents, even a tree. A few toys had been unwrapped and played with presumably by the impish helpers, but most were intact. Everything was brought out of the cave and good naturedly sorted through. There was enough there to provide each adventurer with a sack to take home with him.

Keristo shouldered his sack, and with a final glanced at the dead Greench he stepped through the mage portal that would return him to Orgrimmar. He joined the queue waiting to hand in their spoils, when it was his turn the goblin checked the sack, then handed over the agreed payment, together with a parcel.

"Happy Winterveil!" he said.

Keristo walked away, a bemused smile on his face. He had the feeling they hadn't heard the last of the Greench. He wasn't complaining. It was a lot easier to fight than the demons he normally dealt with. And he got a present.


End file.
